


Color Me Blue

by bluegraywilde



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegraywilde/pseuds/bluegraywilde
Summary: The events of Love, Simon/Simon vs. the Homo Sapien Agenda from Bram's perspective





	1. Jacques and Je Ne Sais Quoi

**Author's Note:**

> So planning on remixing the book/movie canon for the first 2/3 and the last 1/3 will go beyond the events of both

_What did I just do?_ I stare at the computer screen, sitting in my room. Alone. _Typical._

        _It started out with a post, how did it end up like this…it was only a post. It was only a post._ Wow I just did that. _Cause I’m Mr. Brightside._ And again. I guess I really can’t help myself.

        _Probably nerves._ My whole body trembles. _Okay definitely nerves._ I’m pouring all my anxious energy into my legs, feet pounding away on the floor. _I should text Garrett and the guys get a pick-up game going._ Daft idea. It’s getting late. _I should be in bed._ Instead I’m wide awake.

        **Sometimes I feel like I’m on a Ferris wheel… one minute I’m on top of the world, the next I’m at rock bottom.**

        I suppose life is just like that. A series of highs and lows one after the other (with some distinctly average bits thrown in of course but those never make the highlights reel). But something about being in the closet amplified it all. The lows were that much deeper in the abyss and creeped on me unexpectantly. The highs all the sweeter for their fleeting glory.

        _Just a small anonymous confession on creeksecrets._ A slight turn on the release valve. Some excess feelings leaking through my facade. _It had to happen._

        They were driving me mad sealed away in little dark corners of my mind, bound up within my constricted heart. _It’s not like I trust anyone enough to talk to my actual friends. No that’s not right, I don’t trust myself._

         I reassure myself, trying to calm down my pounding heart. _No one will know it’s me. I’m too careful._ Always watchful. Intimately aware of everything. How it could all be perceived. My every glance… some more furtive than others. My every word… regulating my tone and pitch, making all the right noises or better yet saying nothing at all. My every touch, meaning none. _Boys are poison._

         Not that girls had any more appeal. They were certainly easier to talk to. No mistaking a friendly gesture or kind word for something more. _Not developing a crush on every guy with a pulse would be a great start._ And flirting was remarkably easy when the outcome meant nothing.

 _Or it would be if I wasn’t painfully awkward._ Here I am a high school senior, and I’ve never been kissed. _Almost impressive if it wasn’t so sad._

_All I divulged was that there was a closeted kid at school. Shocking. Salacious. Scandalous._ Because clearly the gays didn’t live in Georgia, they belonged in San Francisco or New York or West Hollywood. Or at least Atlanta. Certainly not Shady Creek. _Ethan excepted of course. But he was probably born swaddled in a Pride flag._

        A noise startles me out my reverie. A pop-up alert from my Gmail account. _Thought I had that thing turned off._ I don’t know who would be emailing me at this hour.

        _Bed… now._ Somehow ordering myself didn’t do the trick. Besides curiosity is getting the better of me. _It’s probably spam. But also…_ I open up the email.

 _frommywindow1… hmmm…_ I glance up at my own window. The little suburban street dark besides the occasional lonely streetlight. I wonder if the sender is staring out their own window somewhere. _I doubt it’s that literal. Probably a song lyric or something. Google will tell me later if I care to remember._

        And so I read.

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Sept 14 at 11:17pm**

**SUBJECT: hey**

**Dear Blue,**

   **I’m just like you.**

       

         I stop for a moment. Just enjoying the rhythm of those words. Let them wash over me like a soothing cool wave of water. _They’re sweeter than any Shakespearian sonnet._ The reassuring power of not being alone. Someone else who understands exactly what I’m going through.

         I gulp down the rest of the note like cotton candy. _No something better, more substantial… oreos._ I must reread it at least twenty times, lingering on all the details, no matter how slight and unassuming. His parents. His sisters. His friends. All painted with a broad but surprisingly vivid brush. A perfect little life on display in miniature. _Almost like something out a movie._

  And then there was the signature. _Jacques._ Most definitely a pseudonym unless I’m about to become online pen pals with a Frenchie. _My compliments to his English._

  I consider responding right then and there. Sorely tempted. But my brain is foggy from exhaustion, and I don’t want to do anything rash that I could regret in the morning.

         Besides there’s a still little voice in my mind. A doubting Thomas. Suspicious. Hackles up in defense. _It’s a catfish. A trick. A practical joke. Beware Greeks even when bearing gifts._

 _It’d be quite the odd little heartfelt Trojan Horse._ My inner romantic retorts.

        Still I don’t trust myself. I’m so desperate for a connection that I’ll see something that isn’t there. _I’m already thinking myself in circles before I’ve even responded._

         I read it all over one last time. Trying to picture the person who could have written it. _A fool’s errand._ The possibilities were not quite endless, but they sure felt that way.

 _Jacques can wait till tomorrow._ But my dreams had other ideas.

***

         It starts with a boy. _As do most things these days._ His features are fuzzy, out of focus at first. Shifting, light then shadows never quite achieving clarity. _Like watching an old-fashioned black and white movie on a too small screen._   

 _Jacques._ I just know it’s him. In the same automatic way your brain knows to keep your lungs breathing and your heart beating.

        There are flashes of clarity. A toothy grin here. A raised eyebrow there. His skin never quite settling on a color or tone going the full spectrum from snow white to charcoal black. _Because why must white be the default?_

         I become suddenly aware how close we are. Inches apart. A curling strand of his hair- blonde, no ginger, brown then black- flutters as I exhale. I can’t look away like I’d normally be inclined to do. I’m frozen- _deer in the headlights_ \- and fixate on his eyes.

        They’re a rainbow. The color of the clear sky on a sunny day melting into stormy seas. Then a shaded muddy river bleeding into iced coffee. Tree bark melding into fresh spring growth. An ever shifting kaleidoscope. Every shade of brown, blue, green, and hazel possible, one after the other, never settling for more than an instant. _A vision in Technicolor._

        My eyes trail down his face and land on his lips. Those incredibly kissable lips. Corners curling upward, lips parted in the beginnings of a smile. I want to lean in, get a taste of him.

        And then it’s like a jump cut, skipping ahead to the moment of contact. Skin touching skin. Lips locking with lips. Electricity racing up my nerve endings, tingling throughout my entire body. _Jacques is like a livewire, lightning bolt, and third rail all in one._

        Everything becomes fragments. I’m touching his chest. Now he takes off my shirt.  Hands all over, nimble fingers exploring every inch. Breathing heavy. _Don’t stop._

***

 _And I’m awake._ The details, never that clear to begin with, already start to fade, leaving behind the feelings. _Affection. Lust._ A trickle of sweat follows the curvature of my spine. I feel out of breath as if I had just finished a 5K. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are flushed.

         It’s not that I’ve never had dreams like that before. But they always tended to involve a specific person. Sometimes a celebrity because a little fantasy never hurt anyone. _Brendon Urie, Tom Daley, Frank Ocean, Idris Elba, Manny Jacinto… the list goes on and on._

         Or at least someone I know. Matt, who sits in front of me in US history, always doodling in his notebook. Rich, who lent me that pencil in math one time. That incredibly awkward moment whenever it happened to be someone on the soccer team. _Just no. So much no._

         I always get flustered afterwards as if they somehow know. Like some kind of instant psychic phone alert. _Hey! Someone had a sex dream about you. Swipe right for more information._

There’s a honk from outside. _Shit Garrett._ I look through the blinds to see a familiar red deathtrap come into view, its occupant giving another honk as if there was a chance the first hadn’t its intended effect. 

_Yeah definitely overslept._ And I’m usually so careful about setting my alarm the night before. _You were too distracted by that email… from Jacques._ I blush. And not just because I’m a complete idiot thrown off by a little anonymous note. _That dream was something else._ Clearly I’m a lot lonelier- _and thirstier_ -than I had previously thought.

        There was another honk because apparently Garrett couldn’t just text he was here like a civilized person. _Yeah… how bout I save the armchair psychoanalysis for another time._

        I snatch a t-shirt and pair of jeans from off the floor, holding them up to my nose to confirm if they were wearable. _Clean-ish… works for me._ I pull the shirt over myself and hurriedly slip on a pair of jeans, nearly tripping over myself because apparently all that alleged athletic grace didn’t transfer off the field.

        I sling my already packed bag- _thank you past self for having the foresight to gather your books, throw in some gym clothes plus cleats and shin guards for practice_ \- and put on a quick dash of deodorant before storming downstairs.

 _Guess I’ll just have to buy lunch._ Hopefully Mom will reimburse me. _Or not because it’s my own damn fault._

       I lock up the front door. And give Garrett the stink eye when he lets out a crescendo of excited honks at my appearance.

       “Are you out to get a noise complaint filed against you?” I ask as I open the passenger side door. I sit down in the passenger seat, which is an oasis of cleanliness surrounded by a sea of fast food wrappers, chip bags, and various sticky patches that I never want to know the story behind. _Has to be spilled soda… I think._

       Garrett pooh-poohs me. “Oh please, anyone who’s not awake by now- on a weekday no less- will be grateful for the public service I just performed.”

       I roll my eyes. Good-naturedly of course. There was just something so appealing about his easy confidence. The quick wit never contained by being tongue-tied or worried to death by how it could all be perceived. _He’s everything I wish could be. And I just don’t know what he sees in me._

       “Yeah I’m not quite so sure that’s how it’s seen.” Sheepish grin in hand, I wave weakly at the elderly Mrs. Doherty, out gardening per usual. She trains her evil eye on Garrett in the harrowing judgy way exclusive to little old ladies.

       I glance meaningfully at the decidedly unperturbed Garrett.

       He scoffed. “Oh c’mon, I’m not too worried about offending your batty old neighbor…”

       “I mean… maybe you should be.” He arches one eyebrow, but keeps his eyes on the road. “She is a soulless ginger after all… could be a witch for all you know.”  I give him a knowing smile.

       “Hmm the only kind of witch she could be is a hedge witch.” He gestures behind him where various topiary dogs were receding in the rearview mirror.

       We burst out laughing, I’m feeling good in this bubble of normality. Just Garrett and me hanging out like we’ve been since third grade, driving down streets so familiar they don’t need names. _Why can’t things always be this easy?_

_Because you’re a self-conscious idiot keeping a secret._

       It used to be worse. I remember back in middle school when I first starting getting an inkling I wasn’t typical. A vivid moment during one lunch. All my friends going about their everyday business, cracking jokes, complaining about homework, gossiping about this or that kid. They just felt so impossibly far away, separated by an invisible glass wall while my brain warred away with the implications of my latest crush. _The first on a boy._

       I nearly suffocated trapped in that little glass box. But turns out the closet is roomier than a metaphor implies. Less a cupboard and more a mega walk-in that would make any Real Housewife swoon. _Or maybe over the years I just shrank myself down to fit into it._

***

       The bell rings, announcing its time for lunch. _That doesn’t seem right._ My grumbling stomach protests otherwise. The morning just disappeared into a haze of droning teachers and taking notes like some automaton. _If only time in school could always move so quickly._

        I gather my books and unceremoniously shove them in my bag. Reaching the cafe, I buy a basic lunch, spending an extra couple dollars to get a packet of oreos for dessert. _Between soccer practice and weight room I’ve more than earned a little treat._

        I set my stuff down at my usual seat at perhaps the motliest table at lunch. I’m sandwiched between Garrett and Nick, who I only really know through soccer. He’s mostly a fun guy though, always playing guitar or pontificating on this or that existential conundrum. Which makes him sound fake deep, but somehow he really isn’t. _He’d be a pretty good ancient Greek philosopher. Socrates who?_

       There’s also the new girl Abby, who is everyone’s type. Bright, bubbly, and stunningly beautiful. Like in another life I could totally get behind asking her out. _Well knowing me, admire from afar and fantasize about asking her out._ That is if it wasn’t ridiculously obvious she and Nick were crushing on each other… _hard_ . _They spend enough time eye-fucking each other… why don’t they just spare us the suspense and make it official already?_

       On the other end of Abby, who always manages to sit next to Nick because subtlety is overrated, are Nick’s friends, Leah and Simon. Leah’s sarcastic and prickly… at least to everyone not named Nick Eisner and Simon Spier. But still her tongue of thorns made for some prime-time entertainment as long as it’s not directed at me.

       Leah’s also into some pretty odd niche stuff-  _manga, anime, yaoi… yeah definitely deleted that one from my search history when I got curious and actually looked it up_ \- which attracted scene-kids-born-several-years-too-late, Anna and Morgan. The pale pair stylized themselves so similarly- smoky eye-shadow, graphic tees, hair dyed some aggressively unnatural color like sky blue or hot pink- they’re basically interchangeable.

       And finally Simon. _Adorkably cute Simon_ . He always traced the edges of my social orbit, entering and leaving my world elliptically. We aren’t really friends, but not quite strangers either. Stuck in the nebulous in between. _Doesn’t help I’m basically a mute around him._

       I can never quite get a read on Simon. _Other people are just so much easier._ He’s like a social chameleon. Smart but not scholarly. Nerdy but not especially awkward. Involved in theater, but not really friends with the drama kids. A supporting character on and off the stage... _not unlike me tbh_ _._

       He’s also definitely straight. I can’t remember whether he dated Anna or Morgan sophomore year, but definitely one of them.

       Today Simon’s distracted and antsy. He’s trying to check his phone every couple minutes despite the school’s strictly enforced no-cell phone policy that made TSA guidelines look like suggestions.

 _Maybe he’s Jacques, trying to see if I responded yet._ I sigh internally. _And maybe I just want him to be._ Wishful thinking won’t get me anywhere. He’s so close to Leah that it’s inevitable that they’ll start dating one way or the other. I definitely caught Leah mooning over him on more than one occasion.

        Normally I’d spend lunch quietly eating some food, maybe make the occasional aside Garrett’s way if I’m sure that Simon’s attention is directed elsewhere. _Nothing like a cute boy to get me tongue-tied._

        But for some reason I’m feeling brave today. _Also still hungry._ So I call his name, waving one hand to get his attention. “Simon… Simon.”

        He glances up from yet another abortive attempt to look at his phone. I try my most winning smile, hoping it comes off more as endearing than desperate puppy. _Time to pop the question._ “Can I get some fries?”

        He nods, before resuming his desperate refreshing of whatever app is consuming him. I gratefully snatch a fry, enjoying the small moment, despite it not adding up to anything in the grand scheme of things. _Suppose I have to start somewhere._

***

        Practice is running long, but I appreciate the extended distraction. All my worries about life, school, college apps, and that impending thing called a future fading away just leaving me, the ball, and the pitch.

        Plus my teammates of course. Even if most of the time I feel like the perpetual outsider, there’s something refreshingly easy and effortless to be around them. Most of them I’ve been playing with since grade school. They’re like the rising and setting sun or breathing or my heart beating: something constant, predictable, and automatic. _Nothing for me to overthink._

        There’s also the kick of endorphins from all the running- _runner’s high, totally worth it if you can avoid coughing up a lung or having your heart attempt a jail break out of your ribcage_ \- abetted by the fact I’m a bit of a try hard. _What’s the point of doing anything halfway?_

        Still all good things must come to end. After a final speech congratulating us on our hard work and reminding us about the game on Wednesday, the couch dismisses us. _Back to reality._        

        Garrett gives me a ride home. We chat aimlessly about the latest Premier League matches because soccer never gets turned off for Garrett. He’s hoping to play in college. As much as I love it, I don’t quite see that for myself. _Not enough of a jock._

        Not that being nerdy and athletic were mutually exclusive. Just college really should be more about expanding my horizons and getting to know myself than continuing something that’s been part of my life since kindergarten. _And not playing on a school team doesn’t mean I have to hang up my cleats._

        We pull up to my house, my mom’s car in the driveway announcing she’s home as well.

        I say goodbye and make sure to thank him for the ride. The last time I forgot, Garrett spent a week pretending to be a taxi complete with meter that accepted payments in junk food. He was clearly kidding, but still I bought him a couple fried oreos and made a show of begging for forgiveness.

        Entering the house, the smell of dinner cooking wafts out of the kitchen and hits me. My stomach grumbles, whinnying impatiently at the thought of having to wait even another moment.

        I quickly greet my mom, but retreat upstairs to avoid talking about anything. At least before dinner. She always has a million questions. And like all parents she’s just curious and wants to know about my day, but it’s a bit much to be smothered with right when getting home.  

        The shower calls. Even with the dawning of fall and the temperatures ticking down, practice still ended with me drenched in sweat. _So attractive and not gross at all._

        Stripping down, I step into the jet of warm water, cleaning away the grime of a long day. _Shit_. I realize I forgot to turn on some music. So I’m just stuck with my own thoughts in the silence. Inevitably they turn back to the email from last night. _Jacques._

I’ve been procrastinating responding all day. The late start, then school, then practice afterwards. There just hadn’t been time. _Excuses, excuses._

I try to think of a reply in my head that wouldn’t sound thirsty or desperate but also manage not to be cold. _Or worse boring._ Nothing sounds right. Either overwrought or unauthentic. Never quite hitting all the right notes. _Or any notes._

        The minutes pass and the gears have halted, my mind going blank. I turn off the water, stepping out into the misty bathroom, drying myself off. Debating whether I should even respond at this point because I’m so hopeless at it. _I’ll regret it if I don’t even try._

 _Fuck it. Now or never._ Gritting my teeth, I go to my desk to open a new tab and start typing. Stream of consciousness, trying not to censor myself into silence.

        Beyond a quick once over to check for grammatical mistakes- _first impressions and all that_ – I resist the urge to nitpick every word, knowing I’ll never be completely satisfied.

        It feels weird to sign it as Blue. A whole new secret identity cut from whole cloth. The ultimate fresh start. _Almost like a superhero alter ego. Someone brave._

        I hit send, before I can stop myself or psyche myself out. Releasing this little missive into the world. _Well to Jacques’ inbox, wherever that is._

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Sept 15 at 6:11pm**

**SUBJECT: Re: hey**

**Dear Jacques,**

**A secret, huh ;) Would it happen to be the same as mine?**


	2. Closer (To the Oh So Typical)

        The leaves are changing, green bleeding out in favor of russet red, sunburnt orange, and gilded gold. The gentle Georgia autumn lends a crispness to the air, sharpening everything into focus. Everything else may be dying but I’ve never felt more alive. Life is good. Great even.

         And a good part of that is down to my anonymous pen pal. _Jacques._ I have so many feelings attached to a name that isn’t even his real one. Not that it makes the emotions any less true. _What was that line in Romeo and Juliet?_ _A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet._

         We’ve been chatting for weeks now, emails back and forth nearly daily. I’ve been compulsively checking my email every morning, and it was the first thing I did after practice or a game. It’s become part of my nighttime ritual to refresh one last time before going to bed. And more often than not, the Jacques dream (as I’ve been calling it) recurs.

         There’s a freedom in being Blue. I can say all the things I’d leave unsaid in real life. No thought no matter how inane seems to bore him. We chat about anything and everything… _especially if it’s gay_.

 _Well not quite everything._ I know I’m being careful not to let something identifying slip. And Jacques is too. I know he’s a fellow senior at Creekwood High School and that’s about it.

         See this careful little bubble we’ve crafted depends on anonymity. That way it’s safely disconnected from our everyday lives. Free from all the social and emotional baggage that has left us both in the closet. Knowing who the other is would just be another secret to keep, and I have more than my fair share already.

         So yeah as curious as I am about the boy on the other side of the screen, I’ve been resisting the urge to play detective and piece together all the little hints in things he’s written (and left unwritten). It would change the rules of the game in an irrevocable way.

          I’d like to think I’m being thoughtful, being guarded and cagey for Jacques’ sake. To protect him and his identity. But I know that it’s really all about me. I’m just not ready to let everyone into our world.

         And then there’s my ego to protect. Absolutely nothing would be worse than Jacques discovering who I really am and then rejecting me. That would break something inside me that could never be repaired.

 _I’m not exactly in the Hollywood mold._ Not some bronzed, blond, and blue-eyed Adonis. Or the manic pixie dream boy type, a skinny elfin white boy with high cheekbones, perfectly messy dark hair, and eyes that would be compared to sapphires or emeralds instead of dirt. _This isn’t the kind of story I belong in._

_Now there’s a cheery thought._

         The bell rings for lunch. I glance down at my notes and notice somehow the margins are all occupied by ‘Jacques’ written in cursive of varying size and neatness. _Wonder who could’ve done that?_

         It’s a reckless thing to do, but given I’m stuck at school without ready access to my email, I have to have some kind of outlet for the person who’s been occupying ever larger shares of my brain. _And it’s not like that name means anything except to him._ Maybe I’m half-hoping he’ll notice. _That would be one way to out myself._

         I approach the cafe, dragging my feet because I suspect our extra special guest star will be intruding at my table again. _Martin fucking Addison._

         For some reason over the past couple weeks he’s sat with our odd little gang, bringing the table from crowded to bursting at the seams. He supposedly came with Simon’s endorsement- _yeah slightly judging him there-_ not that Simon looks any happier with Martin’s somewhat obnoxious presence.

        Not that Martin is a bad guy in the grand scheme of things. He’s easy not to hate. Something about his ostentatious gawky geekiness invited a grudging tolerance for his foibles. And he really could be properly funny, if only he tried less hard.

        He’s just incredibly difficult to like. The ceaseless attention whore exhibitionism and constant clowning- _anything for a laugh no matter if it’s with or at him_ \- just fill me with so much second hand embarrassment and cringe.

         It’s like one of Newton’s laws of motion. _Every action has an equal and opposite reaction._ The more shameless Martin acts, the more cringe rebounds on me. _Because apparently nature abhors an embarrassment vacuum._

         Right now Martin is doing a comedy vampire routine complete with baby carrot fangs and an atrocious vaguely eastern European accent that reads less Count Dracula and more Count von Count.

        “How do vampires flirt?” There’s an extended silence as he waits for some kind of response, but no one’s willing to throw him even that tiny bone.

        “By batting their eyes of course.” He flutters his eyelids too quickly at the punchline, in Abby’s direction. I sink further in my seat, just managing to avoid audibly sighing. Thankfully Leah has that part covered.

         If Abby’s at all uncomfortable with Martin’s ham-fisted attention, she’s stellar at hiding it. She humors him with a small smile and light chuckle. Simon makes a half-hearted attempt at something resembling a laugh… a beat too late adding to general atmosphere of awkward. _Kill me now._

         Everyone else is doing their best to ignore him- Anna and Morgan muttering dark incantations in their corner or whatever else it is they do; Nick and Garrett debating whether Ronaldo or Zlatan had the bigger ego- _the real question is who is overcompensating more for their inadequate package._

         Garrett grasps me on the shoulder to get my attention, and I resist the urge to shrink back into myself. Rationally I know it means nothing to him, less than nothing. But the idea of casually touching a guy is faintly absurd to me. It’s simply not done. _Anything not to fall into the predatory stereotype._

         “So Bram your mom mentioned to me, she’s going to be out of town for Halloween weekend on a business trip…. you thinking what I’m thinking?” _Wait why hasn’t she told me, her ~actual son~ this yet?_

         “You know about this how??”

         He shrugs. “We text.” _Yeah definitely gonna follow up on that later._ Like I know Garrett’s a full-fledged adopted member of the family and has a free pass to come and go as he pleases (which really is a better deal than I get) but this is a little weird.

        Garrett ignores my bemused expression, plowing onward. “Besides the point my dude because we clearly have to throw a party that night. It’s like the law.”

        "I don’t know…” _If I just hesitate long enough it’ll all go away- hah! Fat chance of that, but still worth a shot._

        It’s not that I don’t like parties. Parties can be great fun and if nothing else I’d usually get a good story or two if they’re not. _Comedy is just tragedy plus time after all._ But just the prospect of hosting one is intimidating.

 _Kinda was hoping for a chill night in._ Handing out candy to the neighborhood kids, not having to worry about a costume- _because there’s nothing sadder than a seventeen year old in full costume answering the door._

        I sorta figured Garrett would probably have ended up dragging me out somewhere, but that distant theoretical prospect is a whole less daunting than hosting a party.

        “C’mon Greenfeld don’t give me that look.” For the record I am not in fact giving him a look. But if a photo of my face was taken at this moment and hung in an art exhibition _Really!?_ would be a fairly appropriate title.

        “The season will nearly be over. Perfect time to cut loose.” _You’re lucky that you’re my favorite bad influence._

        “Fine yeah, it’s happening,” I concede, waving an unused napkin as a white flag of surrender, smiling besides myself.

        “What’s this about a party?” _Martin fucking Addison._ My heart drops. _It’s one thing to host a party involving actual friends…_

        Apparently Garrett had gotten so good at tuning out Martin that he’d forgotten he’s here. _Well shit._ My cheeks flush a rosy hue on his behalf, while he plays it off cool. “Yeah a Halloween party at Bram’s, you’re all invited of course.”

        Garrett’s magnanimous gesture isn’t quite all it appears to be. Anna and Morgan wouldn’t be caught dead at something as basic as a high school Halloween party, so the polite invitation would be just as politely declined. Nick was always going to be invited with Simon and Leah guaranteed to tag along. Ditto with Abby.

         Which just leaves Martin. Exactly the kind of person who’d invite himself and lack the social grace to recognize the invitation for what it is and decline out of self-respect. _Oh well. He probably would have shown up with his new bestie’s encouragement anyway._ What Simon sees in Martin I’ll never know.

 

***

          _Game time._ I’m changing in the locker room, trying not to be self-conscious. _And failing… miserably._ Doesn’t matter that I do this daily for gym class plus practice afterwards for years now. _Nothing like overcompensating for gay panic._

          My eyes are always glued to the floor, my locker, or another safe location, so there’s a small to none chance I’ll glimpse something I shouldn’t.

          Seeing a guy shirtless is always a little voyeuristic. Like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. _Look but don’t dare touch._ I have to keep from staring, from letting something, anything slip through the cracks of the careful little mask I’ve constructed to face the world. _On second thought don’t even risk looking._

          I get flustered and thrown off and worst of all they don’t even know the power they have over me. _Actually that’s definitely for the best._ Certainly made skins vs. shirts pick up matches insanely awkward.

          And it’s not like high school locker rooms are even particularly sexy environments in reality. The pungent aroma of unwashed teenage boy drenches the place and is more than enough of a turn off. Plus most teenaged boys aren’t exactly the stuff of fantasy. _Boys really do suck. I don’t know what I see in them… besides the cute smiles… and the arms… and the abs… and apparently this list could go on and on… who knew?_

          And something about the potential for the homoerotic brought out the worst bro-ish impulses in everyone. All these desperate hyper masculine No-Homo displays to firmly dispel the specter of the gay. _Best to retreat into myself._

          Once safely ensconced in a window seat on the bus, I pull out my earbuds. Won’t be a long ride in the grand scheme of things. Maybe thirty minutes. But I always like listening to music to focus. Plus it helps with the pre-game jitters. Just tune out all the white noise of the outside world and wander around my own thoughts.

           Today I’m listening to a new playlist I just made last night, all songs or artists recommended by Jacques. For someone who doesn’t go to concerts or wear band shirts out of some misguided principle of authenticity, he sure loves music a lot. Quite the eclectic taste too. 

           I press shuffle and it kicks off with “Waterloo Sunset” by the Kinks. _The Brits sure are an odd bunch aren’t they._ It’s the song he pinched his email address from. ‘ _Every day I look at the world from my window.’_  

           Jacques does seem the type to act in the supporting role, just observing the action play out, ceding the spotlight and the starring role to everyone else. _Not that I’m much different._

          But I’m done watching other people’s love stories play out. _Everyone deserves a great love story._ The thought of being on the cusp of the start of mine crosses my mind. But I suppress it, not wanting my hopes dashed against the rocks. 

           Still it’s a good song, reminds me of the Beatles. The spot-on harmonies, the guitar strumming away in the background, the sweet but melancholy picture of young love rendered in the lyrics. ‘ _As long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset, I’m in paradise.’_

          The song transitions into another. And then another. Nearly a dozen more.

          “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” by Panic! At the Disco. _‘No, it’s much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.’_

          “Waltz #2” by Elliot Smith _‘Cause I’m doing fine from hour to hour, note to note.’_

          There’s something revealing and intimate about learning someone’s taste in music. The lyrics and moods that strike a chord with them and imprint on their soul. Each new song I listen to uncovers a new facet and dimension of Jacques. _It’s like a one way conversation. And I know the perfect way to respond._

           It’ll have to wait because we just arrived at the field. And there’s a surprise waiting for me on the sideline. Mom has set up camp on the bleachers. _Well not a complete surprise._ She always goes on and on about how she wants to see more of my games. _And today she’s followed through._

           Warm-ups are uneventful. The regular rhythm of stretches, drills, a quick lap or two. The usual clowning around and then getting yelled at by Coach Taylor. _People without a sense of humor just shouldn’t work with high-schoolers._

           I’m starting at right back, slotting into place and feeling in my element. There’s the kick-off and then for the next ninety minutes I’m alive. Sticking to my mark, fielding the ball. Chasing down a couple stray breakaways. _They never see me coming._

A couple plays get really physical, but that never bugs me. Some of the opposing team go for their Oscars, diving and falling to the ground at the slightest resistance in the hopes of getting a call. _Not my style._ I body my opponents back, blow for blow. Nothing purposefully dirty of course. But I stand my ground, giving nothing away.

           When the whistle blows at halftime, the match still stands 0-0. The balance has shifted back and forth, each team dominating for a period then being thrown onto the defensive. If only we managed to get a goal I’d be pretty okay with this state of affairs. Nothing more boring than being on defense when the other team is getting crushed.

           The stalemate lasts for most of the second half. At least until I misjudge the direction of an incoming player and eat dirt, slipping and sliding in the mud. The other team lets loose a wicked shot that ricochets off our keeper Ian’s hand.

            It’s a corner kick. I take my spot by the front post, ready for the incoming ball. The kick goes off, headed close enough that I make the leap into the hair and manage to head it out of the box.

           Nick makes a run with it up the side of the field, slicing and dicing among the opposing players. _He really is something else._ He makes a cross to Garrett from just outside the eighteen. Garrett settles the ball and then manages to wail it in before a defender can take him out. _1-0._

           There’s some celebrating. Low-key so as to not awaken the ire of the ref. Nick and Garrett hug it out before returning to our side of the field. We ride out the clock and bag the win. I’m grinning.

           We conclude with the good sportsmanship ritual of hi-fiving/fist bumping the opposing players repeating “good game” like a chant or charm to ward off evil under the watchful eyes of the refs.

           Then the real celebrating can begin as we excitedly hoot and chat on the way back the bus. Mom waves at me from across the field and I know I’ll be riding back with her. Post-game mother-son bonding time. _Oh, joy._

            So I say my goodbyes and wave farewell to the guys. Garrett pulls me in for a bro-hug that I awkwardly reciprocate.

            Once settled in the car, we’re off. I stare out the window, watching the multi-colored foliage pass us by in a beautiful blur, a collage of color. I wonder if Jacques is enjoying the same display, wherever he is.

            “You’re quiet.” _Uh-oh._ I know what’s coming. “Why so serious? Penny for your thoughts.” Mom’s voice is soft and warm but with the barest hint of concern bleeding in.

            _How do I tell her that I’m daydreaming about a boy I’ve never met? Don’t know his name or his face, but I know who he is, the important part- soul is too dramatic a word, but it feels right._

            And most importantly… _How do I tell her that I’m… that I’m not interested in girls?_

            I know I have to whip up some kind of response. Something weighty enough to satisfy her curiosity. A quick quip to deflect won’t get me far. She raised me and knows that’s my first line of defense. She’ll laugh and humor me and then return to the matter at hand. Out of love of course, but also she’ll pull as many of my teeth as she needs to get answers.

And then finally the clouds part and it hits me. “College stuff.”

            The best part is that there’s a kernel of truth. The bulk of my applications are done. But there’s always another supplemental essay to write. Or yet another supposedly final read-through of the stuff I already finished because I can’t stop tinkering.

            And there’s also just the general anxiety of what-the-fuck-happens-if-I-get-rejected-by-all-the-schools. Which rationally I know won’t happen. I’m a good student and a better writer. But if anxiety was rational, it’d be a whole lot easier to shut down.

            “You know it’ll be out of your hands soon enough once you hand everything in.” _That impending November 1 st deadline. _“You’ve done your part just by being yourself. There’s not a school in the country that wouldn’t want someone as smart, conscientious, and committed as you.” _Somehow doubt the Ivies are scrambling to_ _get me… not that I applied to any._

And even though she’s my mom and legally obligated to say all the nice things about me, I’m still touched. “Thanks, Mom.”

            “You know I love you, right?” _You only say it a million times a day._ “If you ever need to talk about anything. Anything at all. I’m here for you.”

 _Well maybe not anything._ My collage image of Jacques flashing in my mind’s eye.

            Still I don’t give her enough credit. She’s not some disinterested or distracted parent. And she’s smarter about this stuff than I usually tend to think. I’m half-tempted to tell her now.

            But I can’t say the words out loud to my own reflection let alone another person. Even if I’m 99.99999999% sure how’d she take it. There’s just this implicit chance of rejection. _It’s too risky._

            Or the alternative is this outpouring of assurances that’ll just rub me the wrong way. _Because they’re lies._ Things will change. Not necessarily in a bad way. But my relationships with everyone will be different. Coming out would drop something new that doesn’t fit into the pre-existing image people have of me.

            So yeah my own feelings are a bit too complicated on the matter to bring in someone else.

            “I know, Mom. Love you too.”

I smile softly with a leaking hint of sadness I hope she can’t catch with those legendary mom senses of hers. _They always seem to know to when something is up._ Or maybe underneath the quiet, I’m just easy to read.

            I resume staring out the window, watching the sun continue descending below the horizon, the fading sunlight coloring the sky as a mirror image of the autumn foliage. A lyric rings inside my head. _As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset, I’m in paradise._

 

***

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Oct 17 at 7:43pm**

**SUBJECT:  The Gaylist**

**Dear Jacques,**

**I’m sure my dad would appreciate the fact you’ve finally gotten me to enjoy some classic rock, which really is just the most Dad!genre in all of existence.**

**Thought I’d return the favor with a playlist of my own (a gaylist if you will). Featuring Khalid, Andra Day, Lorde, James Bay, Paloma Faith, etc. (so yeah maybe it’s just the gaylist because I’m gay). Let me know what you think.**

**-Blue**

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Oct 17 at 11:28pm**

**SUBJECT: Re: The Gaylist**

**Dear Blue,**

**Haha glad you enjoyed the music recs. Told you I had good taste.**

**And you’re not usually a fan of classic rock huh. I mean yeah it can be painfully straight (not always thou I mean look at David Bowie or Freddie Mercury). And I have a friend who’d disagree it’s just for dads (he’s Def Skynard’s biggest fan lol).**

            **And thank you for the extra procrastination material. Can’t wait to dig into them all. (club going up on a** **Tuesday lol)**

**-Jacques**


	3. Dancing Queen(s) on the Edge of Seventeen

        Halloween snuck up on me this year. Time skipping along like a rock across a pond. Memories distorted in the ripples. Somehow October disappeared in a blink of an eye leaving one last hedonistic night to dance on the ashes.

        I guess I’m just not ready for October to be over. The waiting game on college apps is about to start. And my last school soccer season is pretty much done, at least the regular season. _Senior year is just a series of lasts before entering a whole new world of firsts in college._

        It’s not like I’m the type to have their costume planned weeks in advance or anything like that. So I just put in the minimum effort to show up to school in a costume, which involved wearing a Liverpool jersey my dad got me for my last birthday with shorts and soccer socks and calling it a day. _Lazy… yes. Convenient… also yes._

        Although anything would look haphazard compared to the Cleopatra get up Abby is rocking complete with golden diadem and stunning makeup. _She’s as magnetic as ever._ Everyone, nearly all the boys- _I’m pretty sure Jacques, Ethan, and myself are the only exceptions_ \- and quite a few of the girls, spent the day alternately drooling over or gawking at her. _How is she going to top herself for tonight?_    

        Jacques and I have been dancing around our plans for this night, trying not to give anything away. I can tell he’s curious. _Nosy is definitely his middle name… and mine too I guess._ Because I’ve clearly not been thinking at all about what he will be up to tonight.

        I can’t help but feel that he might end up at my party. Garrett has invited an ever widening circle of people, and it’s rapidly spiraled beyond anything I initially hoped for. _Still it should be fun._ Even if my mystery penpal does not in fact show up. _But he will… or maybe not._ I’m hoping against hope.   

        As a general rule I try not to lie. At least about the big stuff. _Well most of the big stuff._ The whole I-like-boys thing is admittedly one giant lie of omission. But at this point I’ve settled on projecting myself to the world as Straight In Name Only (SINO™). No more awkwardly trying to flirt with girls or faking crushes. No more fake attempts to be one of the bros.

        And I’m happier for it. It’s a safe little bubble of ambiguity, a halfway house between the depths of the closet and being out. Kind of like chatting with Jacques. _If ever there was a relationship built on lies of omission…_

        So I tried not to lie about my plans for tonight. _Scout’s honor. I was a boy scout for a year… that counts, right?_ But I decided it’s safer to throw him a bone, even if it’s a fake one. If he does end up at my party, I can’t risk outing myself as Blue. Not that there wouldn’t be multiple parties tonight. I don’t even know if he’s the type to go to parties. But still it’s a much narrower list of candidates than senior guys.

        I head straight home after school to say goodbye to Mom. She doesn’t know about the party tonight. _Yet another lie of omission… probably for the best._ It’s not so much the party as such she’d object to, more the underage drinking that’s definitely going down.

        Dad always tried very hard to be a “cool parent” when it came to alcohol, I guess with intention to demystify it by not making it some taboo. _I mean that whole forbidden fruit dynamic didn’t work out so well for Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden._

        So during a Passover Seder or Purim I got upgraded from grape juice to wine at a relatively tender age. I guess it worked because I’m definitely not hung up on drinking in the same way as some of my classmates. But Mom made her displeasure for this practice known. It had been one of their go-to arguments before the divorce.

        I put slightly more effort into my costume for tonight… _aka finally breaking out that Hawaiian shirt and cheap plastic lei for post-presidency Obama._ Still a low-key costume, but it did finally meet the most basic Halloween requirements of being something or somebody completely removed from my day to day life… _only if for a night._

        Garrett shows up early with the booze, which was actually acquired legally- _his cousin for the win_ \- which you know is a nice fig leaf when it’s going to be used very much illicitly.

        He also made a bold costume choice. _Olympic swimmer… okay then._ I guess that’s one reason to break out the swimmer’s cap, goggles, and a bright red speedo that leaves nothing to the imagination. _Not anything I haven’t seen over the years but also if he wasn’t Garrett I’d be deceased, dead in the ground, six feet under, do not resuscitate._

        In a token gesture towards modesty, on top he has on an American flag star patterned light jacket. Open, of course, because modesty is overrated. _I guess if you have the perfect six pack you want to flaunt it._

        “Couldn’t wait till swim season?” I raise one eyebrow, my intended smirk settling into a smile because of course Garrett would. _In other news water is wet and the Donald is a terrible president._

        “Thought the ladies would appreciate the gun show.” He strikes a statue-esque pose, flexing his arms bodybuilder style. _Cue eye roll._ “And when you got all this body…” He gestures down at his bare chest, trying to look casual as if he’s not flexing.

        He shrugs his shoulders as he asks, “Well why do only girls get to dress sexy on Halloween?” _Keep on fighting the good fight my friend. Smash the patriarchy._

        We spend the next couple hours setting up. Laying out the snack spread, prepping one fold-up table as a makeshift bar, and testing out the karaoke machine. _Best purchase I’ve ever made tbh._

        The guests arrive in a trickle, groups of two to three until the floodgates open and suddenly my house feels like its hosting one of those parties that you only ever see in movies. The ones full of impossibly attractive strangers because it’s not humanly possible to know who everyone is anymore.

        The party’s well underway by the time the lunch table crew arrives.

        Abby strides in with a wicked Wonder Woman costume, a fun summery red top with a plunging neckline and gold colored accessories. Her stars and stripes shorts live up to the name- _legs for days, get it girl!_ The whole look is enough to make anyone feel patriotic. _Between Garrett and her, guess there’s something in the air for sexy American flag apparel._

        She makes an immediate beeline to the bar to get a drink without so much as a hello. And the reason why becomes immediately apparent. _He actually came, wow. In that too… well then._

        Some images just need to be chemically scrubbed from every single neuron to feel clean again. And suffice it to say that Martin Addison in a dress and grey beard is one of those images. _Why that combination? A much too short slip dress and a beard that puts our AP Psych teacher, Mr. Carroll, to shame._

        Then it hits me as I read the words on the dress. _Ohhhhh he’s a Freudian slip._ Which is actually reasonably clever even if the execution leaves much to be desired. _Shame, Freudian slips are all about revealing hidden unconscious desires, and nothing about Martin is all that desirable._ Thankfully for me (and unfortunately for Abby), he makes a move to follow her to the mixing station because blatant hints and social cues are apparently inscrutable.

        Simon and Leah are a vision in white, wearing matching outfits. He’s wearing a long scraggly wig and thin round wiry glasses. She’s got on a foppish hat and a cardigan designed to hide all the skin Garrett and Abby are showing. _The Ballad of John and Yoko. Nothing says just fuck already like a couple’s costume._

         I approach to start playing at being the host, but Leah melts into the party before I get there. Presumably she’s off to some corner so she can fade into some wallpaper and make sarcastic remarks while nursing a drink. _That’s mean of me, it’s not like I’m some paragon of a social butterfly._

 _Maybe I’m just jealous. I still kind of have a crush on Simon._ My feelings have gotten a bit more complicated since I started chatting with Jacques. Whatever that whole dynamic can be called, it feels like I’m betraying him by thinking about another guy.

        And it’s stupid getting hung up on yet another unrequited crush when there’s someone who likes me for me out there, somewhere in the sea of students at Creekwood. _If only I knew his face or his name or any of the normal things you’d know about a person within five seconds of meeting someone._

        “Hey guys,” I go in for the bro-hug with each in turn. _Not awkward, not awkward at all. It’s only awkward if you make it awkward._ And at least with Nick it isn’t.

        But with Simon I’m just so intimately aware of him. The shape and feel of him, the heat radiating from his body.  _Crushes die hard I guess._

        Turning to Simon, “John Lennon, right?” He nods, smiling shyly.

        “And Nick…” I give him a once over. _He’s just wearing the school uniform._ “You’re um, Nick.” _Suddenly the Liverpool jersey isn’t looking so lazy._

        He immediately protests as if he’s heard the joke before. _Which yeah I’d be shocked if he hadn’t._ “No no no, I’m Ronaldo.” He turns to show me the back where Ronaldo is written in bubble letters on a haphazardly taped piece of paper. _Hey whatever works._

        “Who are you supposed to be?” Simon prompts.

        “Post-presidency Barack Obama. So just chilling in Hawaii, drinking Mai Tais, writing memoirs…” I start to do my best Obama impression. “And hoping Trump doesn’t destroy my legacy.” _Or the world in the process. That’d be nice._

The impression is distinctly average, but I get the laughs anyway. _It’s going to be a good night._

        “That’s awesome.” Simon sounds genuine rather than polite. And his sweet smile just kills me. _Okay I’m not drunk enough to be talking to a cute boy. Let’s change that, shall we._

I suggest we hit up the bar. The party is in full swing. We pass by people in various states of intoxication. Cheeks flushed red, grins wild and expressive, chatter and laughter providing a backing track to the music.  

        Garrett is monopolizing the karaoke machine. _“No” by Meghan Trainor. Don’t think that sends the right message for the prospective lady killer. I suppose he’s just letting his abs do the talking for him, which is a perfectly reasonable strategy._

        I propose a toast.

        Nick holds up his hand and says, “Yeah none for me.” He dangles out his car keys to indicate he’s the designated driver. _Good call._ “And Simon doesn’t really drink.”

        It’s Simon’s turn to protest. “I drink,” He gives an incredulous look to Nick that does nothing to bolster his case. “It’s cool, I drink,” he says directed at me to encourage me to keep pouring. _Someone doth protest too much._

        Nick looks distinctly befuddled, “Really? I mean, c’mon man, you wouldn’t even have a glass of Manischewitz at Leah’s Seder.”

        Simon gives Nick a death glare. _Aw he’s trying to impress me._ I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m flattered he thinks I’m cool enough to be worth the effort. “Nah it’s Halloween. It’s a special occasion.” _Is this peer pressure… probably, but he seems enthusiastic and who am I to put a damper on the festivities?_

        I pass a red solo cup- _cliches are fun_ \- to Simon. We click plastic cups and cheer. I take a sip and he really goes for it, chugging (and choking) down his drink. _Oh, he really doesn’t drink._

        He looks slightly green afterwards, hand over his mouth as he lets out a small burp. _I see he’s learned no one really drinks for the taste._ Nick looks alarmed and asks if he’s alright, but Simon waves away his concerns.

        “C’mon let’s find the girls.” Nick pulls Simon away from the bar, who cradles his drink, trying not to spill what’s left. I look on wistfully for a moment but let them go. There’ll be plenty of time to catch them later, the night is young.

        Garrett wraps up the Meghan Trainor song, concluding by taking a dramatic bow as if he’s just won the Voice or American Idol. _I’m more likely to end up on the next season of the Bachelorette._

        He waves over to me to get my attention. I see and start making my way over, but apparently I’m too slow for him, and he speaks into the mic, “Bram Greenfeld get your butt over here.” He then lets the next person take over.

        “You summoned?” I consider replicating his bow, but decide it’d be in poor taste.

        Ignoring my sarcastic remark, he says, “I just overheard something I thought you’d be interested in.” He gives me a knowing look although what I’m supposed to know I have no clue.

        “I’m surprised you could hear anything over that dying cat you’ve got hidden up your sleeve.”

        He rolls his eyes and gives me a joking punch to the shoulder. “Very funny Greenfeld.” He lowers his voice, just loud enough to be heard above the din of the party. “But seriously there’s someone at this party who has a crush on you.”

        My brain immediately jumps to Jacques, which is both crazy and stupid. Garrett doesn’t know about him. _He doesn’t even know any crush I’d reciprocate would be a him._

        “Who?” I’ll admit to some morbid curiosity about whose heart I’m inevitably going to break. _Not that I’ll let it get that far._

        “Taylor Metternich, that blonde bombshell theater girl.” I can tell it takes effort for him to keep his voice low with all the excitement. And of course I’m disappointed, even though I don’t know who or what exactly I was expecting.

        I know Taylor mostly by reputation. We’ve shared some classes but wouldn’t exactly call us friends. She has her minions and Ethan to keep herself entertained. I’d call her a mean girl except she’s actually perfectly nice and sweet if a bit clueless. _At least when it comes to the ways she can grate on people with her humble-brag, passive aggressive Ms. Perfect routine._  

        She’s basically the most type A person on the planet with the grades to match. _Basically if Sharpay Evans, Cher Horowitz, and Elle Woods had a lab grown love child, you’d get Taylor._

        I’m caught off guard that she’d be here, doesn’t exactly seem like her scene. I get this my-body-is-a-temple-that-I-would-never-poison-with-liquor vibe from her. Not that these things can’t be fun sober but getting drunk and cutting loose is a decent chunk of the experience. 

        Garrett looks expectantly at me. He usually never tries to set me up with anyone or brings up my perpetual bachelorhood. I realize he thinks that Taylor is every guys’ type. _And they’re all welcome to her._

         Except that’s not a response I can give to Garrett, at least not one that wouldn’t lead to a Coming Out Thing. I sigh internally. _So much for SINO™_ “That’s awesome dude, I’ll be sure to find her before the night ends.” I’m lying through my teeth, a fake smile plastered to my face.

        Garrett doesn’t notice or at least has the tact not to comment. “I could find her right now. I think I saw her somewhere with Ethan while I was performing.” _She probably left as quickly as she could after that._ If there was something Taylor couldn’t abide by, it was someone singing off-key.

        “Nah it’s cool man, the night is young.” I spy through a window that the party has spilled into the backyard. I should check up on it, make the rounds. I’m not keeping an eye out for anyone in particular. That would be absurd. “Besides hosting duties wait for no one.”

         I head outside to see Abby’s grinding on Leah, who looks flustered and awkward but also very much into it. _That’s… unexpected._ They break apart but keep in close proximity, bopping and giggling.

        Martin awkwardly bobs and weaves on the outside, while Leah and Abby do their best to ignore him. They flit around the dance floor to try to avoid him, but no luck. _He’s stuck to them like tar._  

        Nick passes me to get back into the house, looking miserable. “Hey where’s the snack table? I need to eat my feelings.”

        I gesture toward the space next to the bar where an array of snacky foods and dips are laid out. He doesn’t look good. _Like someone who just saw a puppy punched._ I have the feeling he’s also the punched puppy. “Wanna talk about it?”

        He shakes his head. “Not particularly.” He trudges past me, dejected and miserable. _Probably girl problems. Did something go down with Abby?_ Maybe their romantic tension boiled over in a bad way… less fireworks more Mount Vesuvius.

       In any event its none of my business.

       My business walks out of the house. _Simon again._ I call his name to get his attention, “Hey Simon, do you wanna play Beirut?”

       He smiles again. “Yeah, sure.”

       I hold up a pair of fingers. “We just need two more people.”

       Simon nods. “Yeah how about you and me and then…” Not gonna lie it feels nice to be on his team. It’s a silly feeling built on a delusion. And there’s still the pull of Jacques… _whoever and wherever he is._

       He looks around, but almost in a deliberate way as if looking for someone in particular. “Abby and Martin.” Abby had taken a break from dancing, and Martin was in the process of trying to impress her with some close-up magic. _Good luck with that._

       Hearing her name in association with Martin’s causes no pleasure. Abby’s face is a portrait of confusion and disdain and just-ugh-really-what-the-hell-Simon?!

       Martin accepts readily, and Abby’s protests get overruled by an eager Simon. She drags herself over to the other end of the table, alternating between giving Simon the stink eye and eyeing Martin warily.

       She asks Martin, “Okay, have you ever played Beirut before?”

       His bluff is worse than Simon’s, which I didn’t actually think was possible. And with relish Abby calls it, listing off a series of rules using the terminology of the game. _He looks so lost._ _There’s no one here to impress, Martin we all know this isn’t your usual scene._

       Simon throws him a bone as has been his habit these past few weeks. “We’ll explain as we go along.” _It just doesn’t make sense. Charity case? Blackmail?_ All absurd but they still seem more likely than Simon Spier suddenly liking Martin out of the blue.

       We’re about to start when I notice that Simon’s still wearing those ridiculous Harry Potter glasses. And maybe it’s the alcohol making me brave- _blame it on the booze, got you feeling loose -_ but I reach over and grasp onto them to remove them, saying, “Maybe you should take these off…”

       It’s an intimate gesture. And much too bold. Simon looks shook. I am shook. _Fuck what did I just do?_ I go into damage control mode. “You’ll see better, right?” _Shit shit shit, did I just mess up?_

       Before I reach a full-on panic, he flashes a winning smile and I know I’m alright. If I did overstep, at least he liked it. _What that means, who the fuck knows._

       Martin is atrocious, which really is only to be expected. In gym he always sends up his distinct lack of coordination as a joke. Here all that clowning backfires, and the drinking doesn’t help, like at all. _Honestly did not think he could get worse._

       Abby’s face is priceless though. She makes no attempt to hide her mounting frustration, alternately sighing or rubbing her temples. Although she does get some vicarious pleasure getting Martin to chug down the defeat.

       But Simon and I hit our stride. Landing ping-pong ball after ball in cups. After a particularly good shot on Simon’s part, we slide hands into a fist bump that explodes outwards. It went really smoothly. _This is a night of firsts._

       Martin looks on, jealous. He turns toward Abby, asking, “Do we need a handshake?”

       “You get one of these in, we can totally have a handshake.” _I’m living for bitchy Abby, who knew she had some steel underneath all that sweet and nice._

       Abby takes the steering wheel, and finally Simon and I are on the receiving end of a string of defeats. Lots of chugging. Simon holds up admirably. Or maybe my judgment’s getting a little clouded so I can’t tell anymore.

       The game dies down. Abby goes off somewhere else trying to ditch Martin, but he follows like the lovesick puppy he is. _Correction, puppies are cute and endearing. Let’s go with something a bit more awkward and hopeless: an anteater._

       This leaves just Simon and me. It should be hopelessly awkward. The sum total of our one on one time would be precisely zero minutes, zero seconds. Simon’s just always been Nick’s friend, the kind of person to be friendly with but not actually spend any time with in a real way.

       But we settle into a nice rhythm. A kind of aimless chatting that meanders on and on with no end in sight. In fact, even the thought of it ending is really sad. I could be here, outside with the cool crisp air chatting with a cute boy forever.

      “No way! Your dog is not named Bieber.”

      He gives a sheepish smile, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Well we got him in 2010… it was the height of Bieber fever… my sister Alice was totally the one who suggested it… I just went along ironically… I swear.”

      “Likely story Spier.” He’s so red, from the drink or embarrassment I’m not quite sure. _He couldn’t even try to hide his blush even if he tried._ “It’s okay, everyone makes bad choices in middle school.”

      “Oh god we were all so awful in middle school. You’d think sincerity is more toxic than uranium.”

      I nod. “Just completely insufferable shitheads desperately trying to not be embarrassed. Not yet realizing that everything is embarrassing so you might as well have fun along the way.”

      His smile gets an impish quality to it now. “You know that just gives me an idea.” He starts ambling toward the house. “You game?”

      There’s just something in the air- _or maybe in my veins-_ and I get up to follow him, walking slow and purposeful to keep my balance.

      And somehow, I end up on stage with Simon singing karaoke. “As Long As You Love Me” by none other than one Justin Bieber. _What a guilty pleasure._ Simon was the one who suggested it in honor of his dog.

      And I’m in heaven. The last time I felt this way was chatting with Jacques. _Could he? No don’t be ridiculous, wishful thinking will get me nowhere._ But still it’s something sweet to savor in the moment. _Let this night never end._


	4. I Will Survive (The Dark Side of Perfect)

_        There’s a girl in my room. I’m alone with a girl in my room.  _ If I wasn’t already so drunk, I’m pretty sure I’d be panicking right now. Instead of the usual million racing questions, I can’t even muster one. Everything is slow, one train of thought riding precariously along busted tracks, not quite processing what’s going on.

         I’m together enough that I know who to blame.  _ Garrett. It’s all Garrett’s fault. _ After I was done performing with Simon, he pulled me aside. I’d protested. I didn’t want to stop. Maybe perform another song. Or just hang out. Frankly being close to him was enough.

         And there were still so many more things to talk about. Like how he feels about oreos. Or his opinions on the music of Elliott Smith. Or the exact nature of his relationship with Leah.  _ Aka all the terribly obvious and not all subtle ways I could confirm if he’s Jacques or not. _

_         To be fair subtly is for sober people.  _ And Garrett must have been absolutely trashed to think shoving me into my room alone with Taylor Fricking Metternich was anything close to resembling a good idea. And things were not improved by the knowing nod, the completely cringe wink, and that awful line about seven minutes in heaven with the hottest girl in school.  _ Aka gay hell. _

_         Well at least purgatory.  _ Taylor’s dressed as Hillary Clinton, a costume choice that feels like a year passed its expiration date. She does however effortlessly pull off the requisite pantsuit, even elevating the wig that looked like it was from the bargain bin at Party City.  

        The front of her dress shirt already has a couple buttons undone. Not sure whether she did it for my benefit- which yeah LOL- or she’s just feeling herself tonight and getting into the sexy Halloween costume spirit.

        “Hey there, Taylor.” I’m pretty sure I’m speaking half an octave below my usual speaking voice.  _ Butching it up.  _ I hate myself for doing it, even unconsciously. I just don’t know how to act. Firmly in uncharted territory.

        “Hi Bram.” She saunters over to me, slow and sensual. She smiles at me, but I see something else beneath it.  _ Taylor Metternich… nervous? Can’t be. _

There’s a pregnant pause. That will rapidly extend into an awkward silence if I don’t say something soon. But my brain is still frozen. I don’t even know how to begin to think about what to say.

         “I overheard Garrett by the way. It doesn’t actually have to be seven minutes in heaven. Unless you want it to be of course.” She chuckles, mostly to herself and I half-heartedly join in, ignoring the trickle of sweat carving its way down my back. “But I just wanted to chat. I would’ve asked you directly but Garrett seemed determined to play matchmaker. Stubborn guy.”

“Yeah he can usually get what he wants. Like a beagle. Once he gets an idea in his head, he’s single minded about it.”

“And you’re not?” She tilts her head as she asks the question, which is not something I thought I’d see a real-life person ever do. But it does draw my attention to her face, her perfectly tanned and clear skin, the piercing blue eyes dissecting me.

“Oh, I’m much more go with the flow.” _Says the control freak who wants to be a people pleaser._ “Things usually have a way of working out in my favor.” _Just not in this particular moment._

        I back off from her, retreating to my bed, sitting on the edge. She takes it as an invitation to join, sitting next to me, our knees knocking, feet almost touching, shoulders brushing against each other.

         I’m intimately aware of her presence, but not in the same way as Simon. There’s no charge of excitement or potential, just a dread building up, a stone weighing down my stomach.  _ I’m just going to disappoint her.  _

        “There’s something to be said for working for what you want. Pouring your heart and soul, sweat and tears into your goals. Hard work always gets rewarded one way or the other. I’d think you of all people would know that.”

         I narrow my eyes. “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugs her shoulders, using the motion as an opportunity to close the distance between us. “You’re a student-athlete. I’ve never seen you miss an assignment in any class we’ve shared. I’m guessing you don’t half-ass it at soccer practice. And you get good grades. Almost as good as mine.” She smiles mischievously sticking out her tongue and, in that moment, I see a puckish rebellious girl buried underneath all the preppy.

“I hadn’t realized you paid all that much attention to me. It’s not like we’re really friends.” I silently curse myself out for actually saying that out loud. _It’s true but a tad rude to acknowledge like that._

“Please you’re the most eligible bachelor at Shady Creek. Cute with the brains to match. And you’ve got that whole quiet mysterious thing going for you.” _It’s called not having anything interesting to say._

My face and ears feel hot after all the unexpected praise. I manage to choke out thanks, stammering and struggling to look her in those sky eyes.

She giggles- _Taylor Metternich giggling!_ \- and says, “Just stating the obvious dummy. Maybe I called you smart a little too soon.”  

        “Sorry to burst your bubble. But I’m just as dumb as the rest of the boys at Shady Creek.”  _ Even dumber to think even for a moment this will end well. _

        But I find myself liking Taylor besides myself. She’s rather nice under all the layers of superiority, which I’m not just realizing is confidence and comfort in her own skin. I’d be lying if I said I’m not jealous.

        “That’s a shame, just when I thought we were clicking. I suppose we could do something a little less trying on that brain of yours than talking.”

        The distance between us evaporates. Just when I thought I was used to the pressure of her thigh against mine it disappears.

        Taylor straddles my lap, hands trailing up and down my chest, fingers writing in a language I don’t understand. Part of me wants to bolt right then and there.  _ Forget code red, I’m at code mauve. _

        But I appreciate the warmth of her, the reassuring contact of skin on skin. Gentle and charged in a way I’ve never really experienced before. I think of all those people who say how do you know what you want if you haven’t tried it before. Or Jacques who has kissed girls, even had girlfriends.  _ How sure am I about this gay thing? _

        Our heads are inches apart. Her eyes merging in my line of vision as I stare her down. I breathe in the sweet cloying scent of her perfume. Her lips are parted as if about to say something. The silence is deafening, just leaving our ragged breathing, hers smelling of mint, mine of booze.

        She goes in for the kiss. And instead of pushing her away, I find myself meeting her in the middle. Our lips collide. I don’t really know what I’m doing, so I follow her lead. I get the sense she likes it that way.

        And it's not bad. No spark or fireworks going off, but that’s Hollywood stuff. And she seems into it. But I can’t get my brain to shut off, even the slower drunk model. Although admittedly most of the brainpower is devoted to figuring out what I should be doing with my hands, which I settle on using to keep myself propped up against the bed.

       The door opens. Taylor’s and my lips part for a moment. I can feel the irritation coming off her in waves.  _ She’s not done with me, not by a long shot. _

        I turn my head to see Simon, standing in the entryway. His head is framed by the hall light, creating a halo effect almost like one of those old Renaissance paintings.

Simon’s face devastates me. It’s more than the expected surprise or embarrassment at walking in a couple people swapping spit. He looks crushed. Destroyed.

He catches himself, swallowing the disappointment and sadness. But they’re already imprinted on my mind’s eye. “I’m sorry, I thought this was the bathroom.”

        He sounds distant, distracted. He goes to close the door, letting out a final apologetic sorry before firmly shutting it. I can hear the sound of him storming down the staircase, probably intending to leave or maybe grab another drink.

_Shit, this is a mistake. What am I doing?_ Taylor makes a move to continue where we left off, but I push her away. She pouts, confused at the sudden resistance.

        “Don’t let him ruin the mood for you.” She returns to straddling my lap, going in for another kiss.

        “I think we’re done here.” I make a move, leaving her awkwardly dumped on my bed, an incredulous look on her face. 

        She shifts herself into an upright position. “What’s your deal Bram? I thought this was going well.” Her eyebrows scrunch together in a way I’m sure other guys would find endearing.

        “Oh I’m sorry Taylor, are you not used to being wrong?”  _ Poking the bear there.  _ But it couldn’t be helped. The attitude is the last thing I need to deal with right now.  _ I need to find Simon.  _ “Or is it the rejection that’s stinging… because no means no.”

“I know that.” She snaps as color rises to her cheeks. “It’s just usually guys don’t want to say no to me.” _I’ll crack out the world’s smallest violin for you._ “Unless they’re taken. Or gay.”

And at the utterance of that one small little word, I panic. It’s my worst nightmare come to life. All it takes is one little insinuation or rumor and suddenly my secret is not my own. Everyone gets a piece of my soul to do as they will. And people can be cruel in all sorts of ways.  _ Especially high schoolers. _

I don’t know how to respond, my whole energy focused on not giving anything away in the expression of my face or my posture. But I’m sure my eyes betray me. I can tell Taylor notices her throwaway joke has had a disproportionate effect.

        Her whole demeanor changes at once when she sees my discomfort. “You know it’s okay if you are. I’m best friends with Ethan. It’ll stay between us if that’s what you want. Even if it’s only an issue if you let it be.”

_         No shit. You don’t think I don’t know that. That I don’t have the same conversation with myself in the mirror every morning. Every time I can’t say those words aloud, even alone to just myself. They catch in my throat. Always. _

_I refuse. I’m not having this conversation. Not here. Not with her._

“Get out.” My voice comes out thinner than I intend. Her face is alight with concern and compassion, but all I see is pity. And I don’t need her pity. “Just get out.” I say it with more force this time, anger giving my voice a dangerous edge.

Her eyes widen a bit _._ But after a moment she just nods, getting up to leave my bedroom. She gives one last mournful over her shoulder before returning to the party. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. _And I can’t have that._

But still there’s Simon’s reaction to overanalyze. It seemed disproportionate for what happened. It’s not like accidently walking in on a couple during a party is an uncommon experience. _And we were just making out._ Which is still a weird thought to have rattling on in my head.

        Part of me- the same hopelessly romantic and desperately thirsty sides rooting for him to be Jacques- decides this is the “evidence” that cinches he is in fact Jacques and he wanted me to be Blue.

But a more rational side takes over. I can’t wish him into being gay. Life doesn’t work like that. And because he’s straight, there’s only one logical explanation. _Simon doesn’t have a crush on Leah. He’s been crushing on Taylor. And I just stomped on his heart._

        It makes sense. They both do theater. And everyone knows the drama kids are an incestuous bunch when it comes to romance. And what guy in the school doesn’t have a crush on Taylor. Besides I realize that the couple vibes I got from Simon and Leah mostly radiated from Leah.

        She is the one with those familiar long lingering looks whenever she thinks Simon won’t notice. She always laughs at his jokes, especially the shit ones. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had suggested the couples costume.

        She must have an unrequited crush on him that she keeps hidden because she wouldn’t dare jeopardize her friendship for something as temporary and willful as an infatuating crush.  _ Maybe we have more in common than I initially thought. _

I leave my room, intending to return to the party. Maybe try to find Simon and sort this out. I can’t lose this potentially budding friendship. Even if it can’t be anything more. Taylor means nothing to me next to this.

I make my way downstairs and spot Simon covered in vomit down his front, drenching his shoes. The puke standing out starkly against his white ensemble. _Hopefully it’s his own._ Which is a perverse thing to root for- _but the alternative is just so much yuck._

        Leah is guiding him into the bathroom to get cleaned up. His face matches his clothes, white with green accents.  _ I’m thinking a second round is about to go down. _

        I’m about to call his name to get his attention before realizing I don’t know what’d I’d actually say.  _ Sorry for kissing the girl you like. I swear it meant nothing. Because I’m totally not straight. _

        The bathroom door slams shut, and Leah’s standing outside like a guard dog, poised and alert. She even starts to pace, occasionally leaning toward the door, ready to intervene if Simon asks for her help. Her hackles rise when she spots my approach.

        Before I can get a word in edgewise, she launches into a tirade. “I don’t know what you said or what you did, but Si’s a wreck. And he was coming from your room.” She jabs an accusatory finger into my chest.

        “Look, could I just talk to him for one minute. I can explain.”  _ Said every person who's done something shitty ever. _

        “Oh I’m sure you can. But I don’t want to hear it. And I’m sure he doesn’t either. So I just need you to back the fuck off or I’ll… I’ll…” She trails off, unsure what threat would do the trick.

“You’ll do what exactly, Leah? Break up the band.” I laugh, cold and cruel, the alcohol having sterilized my better angels.

        Sensing I have the upper hand, at least for the moment, I go in for the kill. “He’ll never love you, you know, at least not in the way you want.”  _ Not in the way I want. _

        She looks taken aback, her cheeks flushed crimson, probably both in rage and embarrassment. “And what would you know about any of that Bram? Have you said more than two words to him before tonight?”

         I shift uncomfortably, her laser focused gaze eyeing my every twitch with relish. “I mean,” She shrugs her shoulders non-committedly. “Doing one karaoke duet doesn’t suddenly make you bffs.”

I know she’s right. Logically. Rationally. But that little detail is up there on the list of hard to swallow pills. And these pills don’t exactly interact well with the booze. I want to return on the offense. Let out my rage, confusion, hurt and direct it at another human being because she’s the one who’s available right now.

        Then Simon appears, gingerly holding his stained jacket and dress shirt at a remove. His face has regained a rosy hue.

        I’m distracted because he only has a tank top on. I’m seeing more skin of his than I’ve ever had before. And for a not-at-all sporty kid he’s fit.  _ I’m kind of curious about his workout routine.  _ I make a conscious effort to double check my jaw is still attached to the rest of me.

        She offers Simon her cardigan, which he gratefully drapes over his tank top.  _ There goes the gun show. Okay maybe now isn’t the time to be thirsty. _

        From the kitchen she had grabbed a plastic bag and stuffs his vomit covered shirt and jacket into it. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, she starts to guide him to the exit. They make an odd couple, he towers over her but she’s in complete control.  

        I try to make eye contact with him. As if I could explain all these complicated feelings and thoughts and he’d just understand instantly.  _ Jacques would. _

        But he’s too intent on keeping his balance. Leah’s eager to get out of there, and he follows her lead. And so they leave.  _ They’re going going gone. _

        I double down on the drinking, which is the best worst idea I could have.  _ Anyone who says not to drink your feelings clearly haven’t tried. _

       The burning sensation down my throat reminds me I’m alive. That all pain passes.  _ It’s all temporary.  _ My head pounds.  _ Drumming song on repeat.   _

        My balance is shot, so I slump into a dark corner away from the action. No one really notices, they’re all too caught up in their own drama- Nick’s on the couch eating his feelings, plowing through cheese puffs and other snacks liable to give him a heart attack, Abby bounces around, liberated now that Martin has seemingly disappeared, Garrett is talking up a couple of junior girls, they’re batting their eyelids at him, drinking in his body,

        My eyes flutter. My vision blurs. Everything is fuzzy. I’m fuzzy.

        I can’t quite string together my thoughts together anymore. Everything that happened with Taylor, Leah, Garrett, and Simon-  _ oh Simon _ \- plays on a broken loop. Like the world’s worst remix. Sound and fury signifying nothing.  _ And everything. _

        The party dies, a slow agonizing death to be sure, but nevertheless it dies.

        People leave as they came, in clumps and small groups. The saintly mom friends, sober and tired but determined, herd the drunk cats outside, leaving none of their wayward children behind.

        The air is dead. No music. The playlist having run its course. No ambient sounds of conservation. Just me and my disjointed thoughts. Alone.

        The last thing I remember is someone in a speedo approaching me. I close my eyes.  _ Just rest now. Sleep.  _ It’s too much effort to stay alert. Lids so heavy.  

        He’s picking me up off the floor.  _ I’ve had this dream before. Tom Daley to the rescue.  _ I smile.  _ Wait a sec… I’m awake.   _

        I open my eyes, and of course it’s Garrett who’s saving me.  _ My shining knight in no armor. Like really no armor. _

        The house is an obstacle course. And a disaster zone. Furniture moved at odd angles. A city of cups strewn across the room. Other less savory leavings.  _ I’ll be paying tomorrow in more ways than one. _

        He guides me up the stairs. Each one like a level in a video game. A fresh challenge.  _ Just put one foot in front of the other. _

        He brings me to my room, looking just like I left it when I had made out with Taylor.  _ That was tonight, right?  _

        I squeeze him tight. A proper hug. No side-hug/no-homo/bro hug bullshit. Not something we’ve shared since the innocent days of grade school. At least on a regular basis.

_        “Thanks man.” _ I can’t tell if I actually said that aloud or am just thinking it. But he smiles at me, so I figure he gets the message.

        I slump onto the bed. I hope he’ll be okay. He shouldn’t leave. I’m pretty sure he’s sober. At least more than me. He’d get home fine. But still. I don’t want to be alone. Not right now. Not after tonight.

        He turns to go, but I weakly grasp at his arm.  _ “Don’t go. Stay.” _

And he does, pulling out the sleeping bag I still keep under my bed from when he used to constantly sleep over back in middle school. Every chance we got one of us would end up at the other’s house. His parents adopted me and mine adopted him as honorary family members.

He passes out almost immediately. _And I thought I was down for the count._ The sound of his steady breathing calms me. Better than any drink could. I slip under. Welcoming the oblivion of sleep. _Tomorrow can wait._


	5. Dancing On My Own (with a Hangover)

        In case there’s any doubt, hangovers suck. Like the most suck. I wake up groggy with a headache so splitting that just cracking open my skull would end up being less painful. The light filtering through the blinds is beyond bright _\- honestly can someone turn down the sun?_

        I hide under the covers not ready to face the day. There’s just so much stuff to do before Mom gets home. _An entire house to clean up and detox plus a mountain of school work that I’ve been procrastinating on._

        _All of that while hungover._ This is my first proper one in forever. Normally I’m careful, tapering off towards the end of the night, drinking plenty of water before going to bed. But last night was anything but usual.

        I get up, my movements measured and deliberate. I thought going slow would help keep the pain to a minimum. It doesn’t.

        I gingerly step past Garrett, who’s still passed out and snoring. He sounds like he’s got World War III going on in his sinuses. _Honestly how did he not wake me up earlier?_

        A couple Advil and a few bottles of water later and I’m feeling more like myself. I check my email- phone screen brightness turned all the way down of course- and there’s no update from Jacques. It’s past noon, but not by much. Usually there’s one by now. _Maybe he had a wild night that could put my shit show of a one to shame._

It’s hard not to be disappointed. I could really use the pick-me-up right about now. I refresh one last time, but still nothing.

        I start to work. It’s good mindless stuff, which should be what the doctor ordered. But my brain does not get the memo and spirals over last night. I write and delete multiple texts to Leah apologizing for being a jackass- _it’s the thought that counts, right?_ Which is weak even for me.

         I can’t even begin to think what to do about Simon. Or Taylor for that matter. _That is a problem for future Bram._

 _Or is it?_ Taylor will just go back to being that girl I share some classes with. I never really came out to her- _well explicitly._ And I weirdly trust her when she said she wouldn’t say anything to the contrary of SINO™. _If that still holds true after I was so nasty to her._

        And as for Simon… it’s really just a reset to the status quo, our budding friendship stillborn. _All over a girl… and people wonder why I’m not straight._ It’s sad and will make lunch a little more awkward, but it’s hardly the end of the world. _That will be if Jacques ever stops chatting with me._

        Garrett descends the staircase, looking cheery and very much non-hungover. _The bastard. How does he do it? What kind of bullshit metabolism lets him drink whatever he wants, have those abs, and not even suffer the consequences for his actions the next day?_

        “Good morning!” _It was pretty alright till you decided to be a ball of sunshine. What kind of teenage boy is a morning person?_ Although to be fair it’s firmly the afternoon at this point. _I’ve only been up for a couple hours, it still counts as morning._

        I groan. “Not so loud. Please, spare me. Think of all the brain cells I’m mourning for after last night.”

“Yeah you were really trashed.” I give him a look, and he quickly amends, “Oh, I’m not judging. Good on you Bram for actually cutting loose for once in your life.” _Why does he have to come for me like that?_

        There’s a beat and I keep sifting through the trashing and righting a lamp that someone knocked over and that thankfully did not break. _Guess something had to break my way after the night I had._  

        Garrett makes his way over to me. “So where do I start?”

        I shake my head. “What kind of host would I be if I let you help me?”  

“Try stopping me.” He bends down and starts collecting junk. He adds, “Besides the party was my idea, only fair I clean up afterwards.”

        The work goes quicker with the two of us chipping away at the mess. Well correction, when we try it goes quicker. But we just end up distracting each other.

        “Hey I just wanted to say sorry about last night.” I’m confused for a moment. _What does he have to be sorry about?_

        “I shouldn’t have pressured you to do anything with Taylor.” _Oh yeah I was pretty pissed at him for that._ I’m surprised I’d completely forgotten about that. I guess it kind of got lost in the shuffle with all the Drama™ of last night.

        “I am assuming things didn’t go well given I was the one who spent the night here.” _Wow okay then, he did that._

        “Yeah you can retire officially any potential couple’s names you were thinking of.”

        “Darn and I was so looking forward to the rise of Braylor? Tram?” We both laugh at the ridiculous ship names. _I wonder what’s the equivalent for me and my fave penpal? Jaclue or Bluques? So much cringe that I just went there._

        The pleasant moment doesn’t last because Garrett can’t help but ask the one question I don’t want to answer.

        “Any reason why?” His tone is light and airy. Just Garrett making conversation.

        And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to come out. Right here and now. It’d be the perfect opportunity to put a pin in the whole Taylor debacle. And it’s only right that I let in my best (really only) friend into my little bubble. _If Taylor can kind of lowkey know, why not finally tell him._

        But it’s Garrett. As much as all our shared history should be only the more reason to tell him, it’s also the biggest roadblock. Coming out could change everything. Possibly for the worst.

        And if there’s one thing I can’t stand with all the changes on the horizon between graduation and college and that big scary thing called a future, it’s risking my friendship with Garrett in any way, shape, or form.

        And there’s also just something intangibly different about coming out to a guy as opposed to a girl. Just this implicit tension. Despite the fact you couldn’t pay me to sleep with Garrett. _Maybe I could just rip off the band and go I’m homo but no homo… yeah definite non-starter._

        “She’s pretty and all.” _The sky is blue and Britney Spears is a gay icon._ “But she’s just too high maintenance for me.” I’m mentally kicking myself. I just said that. I need to wash out my mouth. _I couldn’t sound more bro-ish if I tried… which is the point but gross… so gross._

        “Cool cool, maybe the next girl will be more chill.” _LOL that’s cute._

        I make a non-committal noise of agreement. And we keep working in silence, clearing out room after room plus the backyard.

        The afternoon flies by and we’re nearly done getting the house in order. I’m vaguely impressed we’re leaving it in better shape than before the party started. _That’ll earn brownie points with Mom._

I take the opportunity while we’re winding down to check my email again and there’s a notification. _Jacques!_ I nearly drop my phone in my haste to open it up. I devour the message in one gulp and immediately get working away on a response.

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Nov 1 at 3:09pm**

**SUBJECT: Reese’s are better than sex**

**Dear Blue,**

**Hey sorry for the late(r than usual) reply. Ended up going to a party last night and am now paying for it (like a lot, just the most). Not my usual scene and definitely pushed myself out of my comfort zone (I’m not some kind of hardcore party ninja, sorry to disappoint). But the bright side of being hungover after Halloween is you get to nurse it while gorging on leftover candy (because I just have to double down on the questionable life choices).**

**And man there really is nothing more delicious than Reese’s peanut butter cups. Like the experience of eating one is totally orgasmic. Which actually reminds me of the plot of this one show my friend watches where the characters actually get off on good food, like completely lose their clothes over it (before you get any ideas it’s a cartoon- correction “anime” cause said friend will chew me out if I use the wrong word for it).**

**Weird to think that Spirit Week starts Monday. It’s like the school wants to blow its costume load in one go. I’m pretty sure it kicks off with Decades Day(?) But also not sure if I care enough to check (The school spirit is not strong in me). I’d ask what you’ll be wearing, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t tell me (totally fair btw, I’m just nosy).**

**Btw how’d your Halloween pan out?**

**-Jacques**

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Nov 1 at 5:37pm**

**SUBJECT: Re: Reese’s are better than sex**

**Dear Jacques,**

**I mean they do belong on any self-respecting food pyramid (right next to oreos duh). But Reese’s being better than sex? I’m hoping you’re wrong on that one (not that I know anything on the subject). Maybe you’ve just had too much hetero sex, Jacques, just saying.**

**And kind of looking forward to Homecoming besides myself. Don’t get me wrong football is definitely my least favorite sport (100% watch the Super Bowl for the commercials) but there’s just something infectious about that whole atmosphere (school spirit is like the plague… and not all of us are immune).**

**And my Halloween ended up being just chock full of surprises (who’d thunk) but nothing worth talking about.**

**-Blue**

**P.S. Don’t die from a candy overdose :P**

        There’s a slight pang of guilt at even the slightest allusion to last night. But I can’t tell Jacques about it. Not without risking revealing who I am. _Secrets keep piling up. It’s exhausting._

        Garrett is finally ready to head home as the sun is setting. I try at being the good host and offer him dinner. But choosing between a lush home-cooked meal and whatever unholy mess I could scrounge up with my limited skillset is an easy call. 

I thank him for everything. _Went above and beyond the call of duty my dude._

        I watch as he leaves, waving as he begins his arduous journey of all of two maybe three blocks. _Yeah he definitely could have gotten home last night, he could have picked up his car the next morning. I’m just really needy._

        And I finally have the house completely to myself. Alone.

***

        The sounds of outside waft into the house. The vroom of cars cruising down streets. Some loud kids squealing and hollering in their backyards, enjoying the twilight of the weekend.   

        “Bram, I’m home.”

Mom stands in the doorway, bags already at her feet. And I go in for the obligatory welcome home hug, which she totally traps me in. Even though I totally missed her this weekend, I’d never say it in so many words.

“You cleaned.” A hint of suspicion enters her voice. “You never clean.” _Yeah… she can never know the truth._

“What!? I clean.” I try to sound offended but there’s no fooling her. _No one in their right mind would believe that._

        I change tack. “I wanted to do something nice for you while you were away?” My voice cracks when I go high at the end because apparently puberty will never end. _Adulthood is a lie._

        “I guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” _AKA her way of saying ‘I know you’re full of shit but I’m not going to press you on it.’ I will 100% take it._

“Don’t tell me you spent the entire weekend moping around at home.” _Mom why’d you have to come for me like that?_

“Of course not.” _Just like half of it._ “Hung out with a few friends Friday night.” _I mean I only consider a few of those people to be my actual friends._ “And then Garrett and I had one of our classic sleepovers for old times sake.” _Because we were hella wasted._

        “How is Garrett? I feel like I haven’t seen him in forever.” _Guess that’s why you’re texting him?_ I get that she’s trying to take an interest in my life and my friends. But there’s really only one acceptable answer.

        “He’s good, Mom.” _I’m good, everything’s good._  

       

***

MONDAY

        It is in fact Decades Day. Freshman are pulling out their best Grease cosplay… lots of patterned full skirts, greased back hair, and leather. Just so much leather. _Kinky._

        Sophomores are trying to look like they walked out of Woodstock but end up reading like a PG Burning Man. Although quite a few girls go in the opposite direction and pull off the mod look. Lots of mini-skirts that skirted the school dress code and rubber boots that were made for walking. _The other 60s._

        The junior guys and gals are dressed like they’re hustling their way out of Saturday Night Fever. The guys all have bright loud patterned shirts unbuttoned to their chests. They’re pulling out the high waisted pants, including some bold souls wearing bell bottoms. _The horror._ And then there’s just an overwhelming amount of denim.

        Which leaves the 80s for the seniors. I break out the pastels and loud lurid colors in a three-piece number that looks like something my dad would worn in high school or college if he had been at all fashionable. _Do I feel like a walking pride float… why yes, yes I do._

        Taylor is lounging in the courtyard with her minions and Ethan. She looks like she belongs in Olivia Newton John’s Physical music video. Ethan does too. _Bold choice… wonder how he’ll escalate for Gender Bender Day._

         I make eye contact with her for a moment. Something darkens over her face. _A passing cloud._ Still she waves. And I do a weak wave that probably looks like a much less dignified version of the Queen’s. I quickly look away and move on. _Okay that could have been worse._

        The morning passes in a blur, almost like it’s happening to somebody else. This would normally be great, but I’m dreading lunch. I haven’t spoken to Leah or Simon since the party and there’s this lingering awkwardness.

        But once I’m there it’s fine. _Turns out the whole world does not in fact revolve around me… who knew?_

        If Leah is trying to be colder to me I can’t tell. She’s in deep conversation with Anna and Morgan about something. She keeps checking over her to shoulder see if anyone is eavesdropping, which only makes me more curious. But I let it slide, no need to escalate things with her more. _Honestly having her ignore me is probably the best-case scenario._

        Simon is chatting up Abby about the play. She’s freaking out by the amount of lines she has to memorize. A situation he decidedly can’t relate to as an extra. _The privileges of the margins._

        “Seriously Simon, we have to be off book in a few weeks and I’m so not ready. It doesn’t help Taylor keeps showing off her ‘photographic memory’ at rehearsals. She’s making me feel even more behind than I already am.”

        “How bout some extra practice tomorrow after school? You share a lot of scenes with Martin, the three of us could hit up Waffle House and I could quiz you guys on your lines.”

        “Good thinking Spier, two birds with one stone.” Martin wraps one arm around Simon’s neck _How good an idea can it really be if it has Martin’s endorsement?_

The prospect of willingly spending time with Martin doesn’t seem to throw Abby off. _She must be really stressing about this play stuff._ “Seriously, Simon? That’d be so many kinds of awesome. I could probably borrow my mom’s car if that helps.”

        This all just sounds to me like the most awkward group hang imaginable. _Good luck to all of them. Even Martin._

***

WEDNESDAY

        _Oh joy it’s Gender Bender Day._ I lay out the cheerleading uniform Ashley dropped off last night onto my bed, staring it down. It’s not like I haven’t worn some variation of it for gender bender day the past three years. It’s the kind of thing that the guy athletes just do. 

        But it’s never been something I’ve been particularly comfortable with. Outside some experiments with my mom’s heels when I was little, dressing in feminine clothing is just not something I do. Unlike a certain Jacques I never cross-dressed for Halloween. _Although I’m sure he made for an adorable flapper._ But superheroes were just more my speed.

        But peer pressure is a powerful thing. Not in the aggressive in your face way that all those anti-drug PSAs try to make it out to be. It’s a lot subtler, and more insidious because of that.

        It all boils down to the fact that the only thing more conspicuous than me dressing as a cheerleader would be if I didn’t. And I just don’t want to deal with any of the jokes and digs and totally innocuous questions that I’ll overinterpret. _It’s all in my head and isn’t any less real for that._

        I put on the uniform, feeling weird about how exposed my arms and legs are. Unlike some of the guys I wouldn’t dare put on a wig or put clippers in my hair. Wearing the uniform is trial enough.

        First period is English. Mr. Wise has Twelfth Night playing on the Smartboard. His idea of joke I guess. _Who knew a Shakespearean play about crossdressing would be gay as all hell. Sebastian and Antonio clearly just need to bang already. And Olivia’s sexual tension with Viola/“Cesario” is off the charts in the classic Li Shang and Mulan-in-drag kind of way._

        I’m sitting on this ratty old couch in the back, trying to sink into the cushions. I’m sandwiched between one corner and Garrett. He’s next to Nick, and they’re both similarly dressed as cheerleaders. _The whole squad is here._

        Marking time, I scuff one shoe against the other. Nervous energy I guess. I could almost swear I see Simon glance back our way a few times. He probably just has to tell Nick something. Still I get more self-conscious about how ridiculous I look in the cheerleading uniform and lean further back into the ratty leather.

        Per usual Abby arrives late without so much as note. She’s involved in a million extracurricular activities. If I had to guess it was her idea of making friends and integrating into a new school after moving. She’s dressed in a full suit and tie with a grey fake beard. _And that dear Martin is how to make a reference to Freud._

        Ignoring the movie- like about half the class- she gives the entire couch a once over and bursts out laughing. I’m mortified but muster a sheepish grin. Nick meanwhile looks terribly pleased with himself. _Reset from the party I guess. Hope it works out for those crazy kids._

She slips into her usual desk behind Simon, and starts chatting him and Leah up.  I force myself to focus on the movie.

Martin himself makes a grand entrance moments later, shamelessly showing off an obscene amount of skin in his very own cheerleading uniform. _Wonder how he managed to snag that?_

He’s gone the extra mile and stuffed his chest to mimic cleavage. The entire class hoots and hollers. Martin eats up all the attention, while trying to negotiate down Mr. Wise from demanding a late pass. He fails, leaving the room in a walk of shame.

        Lunch is weird. Well weirder than usual. Martin and Abby are actually friends to the general confusion of everyone else at the table. _Did he lace the waffles from last night with something?_

Garrett’s jaw is nearly to the floor as if Real Madrid had been upset by some high school team. Anna and Morgan whisper conspiratorially to each other in the corner, giving the real odd couple at the table sideways glances.

        Nick looks absolutely miserable. He charmed the lunch ladies into getting a second serving on the cheap and is going to town on it. _There are worse coping mechanisms than food._

I try to catch Simon’s eye to see if I could prompt some kind of explanation for the spectacle of Abby Soso thinking Martin Addison is in any way charming or funny. But he ignores me. _Still not over Taylor I see._

        After Martin snatches some of Abby’s fries and claims to be a fry shark to her apparent delight, Nick gets up and storms off. Simon sighs and then follows after him.

        Martin keeps going oblivious. _Ignorance really is bliss._ “What do you get when you get black and Jewish?” _Yikes. Where the fuck are you going with this?_

But Abby indulges him, “What?”

        “Blue-ish.”

        Abby laughs and offers a half-hearted condemnation, “That’s mean.”

        I freeze as my blood runs cold. I force myself to study Martin. It was probably just a stupid nonsensical pun from someone who’s not exactly a paradigm of sensitivity. _Was he trying to hint that I’m Blue? How the hell would he even know about any of that unless…?_

        Well there’s an unpleasant explanation. _Could he be Jacques? And that was his ham-fisted attempt to signal he knows who I am._

        I run through everything I know about Jacques. I’m pretty sure Martin has a brother and not sisters, but also I can’t be sure because why the hell would I pay enough attention to Martin to know that.

        Everything else I know is so circumstantial. But I have gut reaction that they can’t be the same person. Martin just rubs me the wrong way and he doesn’t seem the type to have hidden depths to resemble anything like the thoughtful and genuinely funny person I know Jacques to be.

        I focus on my breathing and resist the urge to spiral. _Just a coincidence. The universe’s idea of a practical joke._ Lunch ends and I put as much distance between myself and Martin as possible. No matter what I try, my thoughts keep circling back to him and Jacques. _He’s managed to ruin that too._


	6. Diana Ross and the Art of Coming Out (to Mom)

         In an unexpected turn of events, the homecoming game got delayed a week. A biblical downpour ready to sink Shady Creek like some new Atlantis will do that. The streets are already rivers, so even if I was in the mood to go out that was a no go. _Mom would have a fit._

         So I’m home alone in my room, staring at the ceiling, just thinking. _What’s that literary device that Mr. Wise went over the other day? The one from Jane Eyre, when the weather mirrors the character’s mood._ I think it over for a moment, before finally giving up and using Google because otherwise it’ll bug the hell out of me.

 _Pathetic fallacy huh._ Well I certainly feel pathetic right now. I’m moping because, among other things, I’ve missed another chance to share the same space as Jacques. Not that I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd that big. But still.

        I open up my laptop and cue up that playlist of songs he recced. Just thinking. _Tonight’s the night. Just got to commit. I have to be my own hero. I have to be Blue._

        To help me be brave and to hold myself accountable, I had announced my intentions to Jacques last night. _A perfectly simple and ordinary Coming Out Thing._ The kind that features on a Very Special Episode of a teen drama.

         It’s something I’ve always toyed with, more and more lately now that the end of high school is on the horizon. But every time I would always dismiss it as crazy. Or just encourage myself to wait for some big milestone as a goalpost.  

_Wait till you’re in high school. Wait till you're sixteen. Wait till you go to college. Wait till you’re somehow in a relationship, and it becomes something material and real and tangible._

        Even as I grew more at peace with my sexuality. I fudged. I obfuscated. I procrastinated. Anything to delay a reckoning.

        Not because I’m that worried about how my mom or dad would react. _Mostly._

        Episcopalians and Reformed Jews are supposedly cool with the homos. _Well more so than the typical Christian ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’ hypocritical bullshit. Because really who are people outside of their actions?_

        It’s just this secret is like an unkillable weed burrowing into my heart. Growing and thriving in the dark, roots branching out and out until I can’t tell where it ends and I begin. _Who am I without it?_

        But this time will be different. _Because of Jacques._ I let myself down all the time, but the idea of disappointing him is simply unbearable.

        I just can’t stand the thought of him asking how it went and myself admitting to backing out. _He’d probably be all sympathetic and understanding which would make everything worse._

        _Do it now._ I know if I wait for dinner, I’ll let her drive the conversation. Or wait for the perfect moment to come up, which never will because there’s no such thing in real life. And if there is, I’d still probably whiff and then wait another eternity before trying again.

        So I walk downstairs, dragging my feet as if on my way to my own execution. _Not melodramatic at all then._

        I reach the landing, pausing in the threshold by the kitchen, delicious smells and some old timey 40s swing music wafting out. _I actually know this one. Moonlight Serenade._ Sweet, slow, and nostalgic. _The kind of song waiting for a slow, preferably romantic, dance._

        My mom had advanced from records to CDs to Spotify (with an assist from me) but the tunes always stayed the same. _See change isn’t always bad._ Somehow, I don’t quite convince myself.

        She’s humming to herself in front of the stove, stirring some chili in a pot. It was the kind of scene that had played out in this house a million times. _I can’t do this._

        Apparently, I am not in fact super sneaky because she calls, “Bram, is that you?”

        I enter the kitchen proper. “Yeah it’s me.”

        I pause for a beat, daring myself to go for it. When I finally do speak again, it sounds like somebody else. “Mom, I have something to tell you.”

_A good start, don’t back out now. Just keep pushing. Be brave. Be Blue._

        “Can it wait a sec? Just need to wrap this up.” She doesn’t even glance in my direction. Her attention and energy focused on cooking.

        “It’s kind of important.” There must have been something concerning in my voice (besides the unwelcome return of puberty crack) because she immediately stops what’s she doing.

        “Alright honey, I’m all yours.” She wipes her hands on a towel, eying me with curiosity.

        “Mom, I just wanted to say that...” I’m struggling to look into her eyes. My hands are sweating terribly, and I can’t stop playing with them. My heart burns, melting, going absolutely nuclear. It’s pushing against my rib cage, trying to beat its way out against its bony prison.

 _Last chance to back out._ But there’s no real choice, I can’t. Not today. Not this time.

        “I’m gay.”

        The silence stretches on and on for what seems like an eternity even if it just occupies the moment between heartbeats. Although that moment could be considerably longer than usual because I’m pretty sure my heart stopped. _Stone dead._ _Do not resuscitate._ The crescendo of activity leading up to this moment just too much for the poor thing. _For me._  

        She goes in for a hug and I just kind of accept it, shell-shocked. The tensions that have wound my body tighter than Gordian knot melt away.

She whispers in my ear, “I’m so proud of you.”

        Her fingers run through my hair as she says, “You know I love you, right?”

        I just nod, words absolutely failing me. My tongue refusing to cooperate with the rest of me.  I don’t cry (with happiness, relief, sadness?) but all the feelings are there, properly jumbled inside.

        We part after I don’t know how long. Could’ve been five seconds or five hours. She’s looking at me, eyes full of warmth and compassion.

        The shock at my own daring starts to wear off and I’m left feeling drained but happy. It’s like I punched a hole in a wall to let in a little sunshine. It’ll take some time to adjust to the new brightness, but it’s better than sitting alone in the dark.  

        “Are you surprised?” It’s almost a stupid question to ask. Somehow both vain and vulnerable at once. _How good an actor was I?_

        “Yes and no.” She’s talking slowly, over-enunciating every word, clearly thinking through things deliberately. “I knew you had your secrets.”

         I squirm uncomfortably for a moment trying to imagine what she might have thought was going on. _Drugs, Satanist cults, tech addiction… whatever latest moral panic is capturing the imagination of the nightly news set._

         “But what teenage boy doesn’t.” She amends quickly. “I trusted if it was ever something serious you’d eventually talk to me about it.” She shakes her head. “Maybe a bit too much.”

         “Mom no, you were golden. It’s just something I needed to work out for myself for a bit before I brought in other people.” _Why do I feel like the parent right now?_

         “I just hate to think that anything I or your father did made this in any way harder for you. It’s tough as a parent to be reminded that your child has to fight their own battles and you can’t help them.”

         I must have stiffened slightly at the mention of my dad because she goes on, “And don’t worry. I won’t talk about this with your dad or anyone else until you say so. This is completely yours to tell. Or not. I’m just along for the ride.”

         I just nod, thinking about how this is really just the smallest of first steps. That I still have to tell my dad. _Will he be offended I told mom first?_ And then there was extended family, friends, classmates? _Where do I start? And maybe more importantly where do I end?_

         It’s intimidating in the sheer scale of it. And I don’t think I’m ready for quite everyone to know. I didn’t a definitive answer in this moment. But it does distinctly feel like I am running out of time. As if the closet is an either or situation instead of muddled confusing halfway house.

         “You use protection, right?” _MOM!_ I nearly choke on air. And honestly it would probably be more merciful if I actually did. I guess it’s kind of flattering that she thinks I could be sexually active in a very perverse and fucked up way.

         But mostly I’m just getting traumatic flashbacks to when I was thirteen and my parents attempted to give me the Talk™. My dad ran with the cliche bit about the birds and the bees and otherwise mercifully tried to keep it short. Saying he’d elaborate when I got older. _And I’m forever grateful he never did._

         But my mom the epidemiologist didn’t trust the Georgia public school system to meet her standards for comprehensiveness and pulled out a slide show. A very graphic slide show in terms of both text and images. I had nightmares for weeks. _Mission accomplished I guess._

“Don’t give me that look. It’s important to practice safe sex every time.” The look intensifies. “Yes that includes oral.” _What did I do in a past life to deserve this?_

        “Mom, you do know I’ve never done anything like that. Like ever.” I don’t know why it’s so important for me to make sure she knows this. But it is. _I guess just because I’m not straight doesn’t mean the record can’t be._

        She raises one eyebrow, but shrugs in a I-know-the-truth-even-if-you-won’t-say-it-aloud kind of way.

        I realize more denials will be pointless and only prolong my agony, so I let it go. Frankly I’m too relieved about how mundane and terribly awkward this whole thing is to be that annoyed. _She’s still Mom. I’m still me._

        We eat dinner and return to the regular rhythm of the night. We end up queuing an old favorite of my mom’s. _Sixteen Candles._

And I can see how easy it is to be swept up in the romance of it. Girl has crummy birthday because her family forgot it. Girl deals with the various indignities of being a teenager stuck in high school. Girl somehow lands the dreamy senior guy with an assist from a hapless nerd (and some questionable exchanges involving ladies’ underwear but that’s neither here nor there). _Happily Ever After_.

The feelings are all there. And it’s tough to top that lovely concluding image of Molly Ringwald and the drool worthy dreamboat kissing over a birthday cake.

        But something about the movie rankles. And not just the obvious racism with that really awkward and backwards-even-for-its-own-time gag about the Chinese exchange student.

        I can’t quite put my finger on it, before settling on the movie just being just excruciatingly straight (and white). I can’t see myself in this story. I don’t belong. And if I did manage to appear, I’d just be the butt of the joke. At best just another stumbling block on the way to True Love.

One of our rules while watching movies is no phones or electronics of any kind. _“Bram we must appreciate the sancity of the cinematic experience.”_ So first thing I do once I see the end card is check for any emails from Jacques. And low and behold.

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Nov 7 at 8:49pm**

**SUBJECT: Coming Out Thing**

**Did you do it? Did you do it? Did you do it? Did you do it? Did you do it?**

**-Jacques**

**P.S. I know you said you’re an only child, so this would be a pretty good illustration of what having a (totally annoying) sibling is like. You know if I was there and probably poking you or something like that ;)**

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Nov 7 at 11:06pm**

**SUBJECT: RE: Coming Out Thing**

**Jacques, so yeah, I did it. I told her. Still riding the high of the aftermath. Just this great big mixture of adrenaline and relief (god, I didn’t think it was possible to be that anxious and nervous, and yeah, thought I was gonna hurl).**

**So odds are sleep won’t be happening tonight. Thank god for the weekend.**

**I think she took it well. She was mostly pretty calm (much more than me). But the way she was talking, you’d think I’d catch an STD if I sneezed wrong. I don’t think she quite believed me when I said I wasn’t sexually active. (Flattering????? Maybe???  I guess?? Why do I feel like Freud would have a field day with this? Then again, he could have one with anything).**

**But I just really wanted to thank you. It seriously never would have happened in a million, billion years without you helping me find the courage to do it. So yeah you’re officially an inspiration (and a bit of an aspiration… just all the spirations).**

**-Blue**

        I try to nod off after typing up that response. Sincerely put forth my best effort. But sleep isn’t something that can be forced. I’m just buzzing. My mind won’t shut up. I need to know his response. Just some more confirmation that it all really happened. That it’s not some elaborate and hyper-realistic dream, and I’ll wake up tomorrow morning painfully back to square one.

        I suppose I do eventually drift off because I wake up in the middle of the night. Still properly dark out. I pull out my phone to check the time. **4:11** flashes on the screen, plus a notification from Jacques. I know I won’t be able to fall back asleep until I read it, so I take the plunge.

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Nov 8 at 3:49am**

**SUBJECT: RE: Coming Out Thing**

**Incredible! So fricking proud of you. Just congrats.**

**And you have it backwards, you inspire me. Kind of had my own Coming Out Thing tonight. Wasn’t to my parents. Not yet at least. But one of my best friends.**

**Didn’t plan it all. It was all very dramatic, pulling over to the side of the road. In hindsight (that’s the backward looking one right? Not foresight), I think she thought I was going to confess my undying love to her. Which yes she completely deserves, just not in that way.**

**So yeah it was unbelievably awkward and weird and then kind of sweet. Completely get what you’re talking about with the relief, but it’s mixed in with some embarrassment for me. I feel like I made it such an impossibly big thing in my head, much bigger than it ever needed to be.**

**But still I’ll just be enjoying this feeling for as long as I can. Really exciting to think I’ve crossed some like invisible line and can’t go back. Not sure where I’ll go now, but I’m thinking it’ll be better than where I’ve been (definitely as long as you stay by my virtual side).**

**Also sorry in advance for any grammar errors or mistakes and stuff. Normally I check a lot, like even more than just using spellcheck. You’re such a good writer and I don’t want to disappoint you and uggggggh my eyes just keep glazing over.**

**I guess I should actually try to catch some sleep at some point.  Im basically typing things as I think them at this point (what’s the typing equivalent of thinking out loud? Whatever the hell this mess is). So I think I should stop now. Probably.**

**Let’s catch up when I’m not a sleep deprived zombie.**

**Love, Jacques**

       I’m positively sure I’m blushing. And I can’t stop grinning like a complete idiot. _He likes me, he really really likes me._

       I’m also just blown by the casual way he slipped it in there at the end, almost unconsciously. My eyes caress that signature. My mind returns to its favorite past time, imagining Jacques.

 _Did he mean it or was that just the tired talking?_ But also being tired is like stripping away that mental filter, so maybe this is what he really thinks but just hasn’t worked up the courage to say before.

       I’d respond right now. I’m sorely tempted. But I don’t trust I’d be quite as lucid as he is. Or if I’d be able to tell whether I am or not. _First thing tomorrow morning._

       I slump right off back to bed. Dreaming of Jacques.

***

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Nov 8 at 9:09am**

**SUBJECT: RE: Coming Out Thing**

        **Someone was late night emailing. (Not that I can blame you, I think we were both Team No Sleep last night). You’re cute when you’re tired. Scratch that, you’re cute pretty much all the time as far as I’m concerned (and grammatical too, really coherent for someone typing away at nearly 4am, much more than I’d be).**

**And more importantly, I’m really happy for you. Like I don’t even know what to say. It’s all brilliant. The kind of stuff we’ll look back on and remember for the rest of our lives.**

**I’m getting that same genie is out of the bottle kind of effect. It’s like all these careful little walls I’ve been building are tumbling down. I’m curious what’ll happen next. (Only good things, right? Let’s definitely make a virtual toast to that lol.)**

**And don’t worry Jacques, I’m not going anywhere (you know as long as the internet doesn’t spontaneously have a meltdown or something apocalyptic like that). There’s no one else I’d rather be chatting about oreos and music and just life with.**

        I debate how to sign off… I mean there’s no real question of what it should be.

        But I just want to be sure I really feel it. That I’m not just saying it back because it’s expected or to protect his feelings. Because that would be just plain cruel and unfair to the both of us. And he deserves only the best. _Maybe better than me._

        But I think I do. Chatting with Jacques has absolutely made my year.

        I know it hasn’t been that long, just a couple months more or less. But I can’t imagine my life without him. The whole shape of it has morphed and shifted, and now there’d just be this empty hole if he disappeared. And the thought of that fills me with such sadness.

       He’s my first real proper crush. One not based on hopelessly pining after someone pretty from afar. Hoping someday they’d wake up and realize I’ve been there holding a torch for them all this time. _An absurd little fantasy._

       No this one is based on who he is. I like his sense of humor. I like the way he can be absolutely bigger than life, but then bring it all back to Earth in the small moments that matter.  I even like his absurd logic that wearing band t-shirts without going to concerts is being a fake fan.

       No scratch all that. I love all of those things. Every single thing about him. Even the infuriating bits. _Especially the infuriating bits._

       I love him. _Now just say it._

**Love, Blue**


	7. Trying to Bloom during a Buzzcut Season

        And it’s Friday night.  _ Again.  _ The stadium lights are beaming down. The crowd is roaring. After a quick pitstop at the concessions stand, I make my way to the bleachers. I’m supposed to be meeting Garrett.

And I see him with a few other of my teammates. _Ex-teammates now. That’s still weird. When will I get used to that?_

        He waves my way. I wave back and start bounding up the steps.  

On my way, I notice Leah and Nick sitting together. _With no Simon in sight. Weird._

        Something’s off about their energy too. A kind of tension. As I pass, Leah laughs too hard at whatever Nick just said, voice high and girly and giggly and just very not-Leah.  _ Are they on a date? That’s… unexpected. _

I mean whatever works for them, if they want to give it a shot. It’s not exactly like I’m in any position to give relationship advice, what with the anonymous pen-pal and all. But I just don’t see it. A good friendship doesn’t necessarily translate into good romantic chemistry.

_And whatever happened to Leah’s crush on Simon? Or Nick’s puppy crush on Abby for that matter?_ Maybe I’m just a bad judge at these things. But also don’t envy either of them if this is some desperate rebound situation. _Seems like they’re just setting each other up to have their hearts broken._

_The crow says to the raven._ Whatever Jacques and I have… I’m starting to think it won’t end well. The problem with little bubbles is that eventually they pop. The real world’s going to intrude eventually. And I’m not ready for that. _Shut up brain. Just let me enjoy something for once. Just because something’s not forever doesn’t make it any less good._

I settle in next to Garrett, at the edge of the bench.

        “So what have I missed?”

“Our QB got called for a handball and lost possession in the first half.”

        “Oh no, what did their penalty kicker do?”

“He whiffed, completely missing the net.”

        “That is a relief, I thought he’d get it into the upper ninety for sure.”

Ian leans over, “Uh, you guys do know it hasn’t started yet?”

“I mean yeah obviously duh. I know that.” And I do. I actually know sports, having played one and all. But it’s this old joke I have with Garrett. When we first found out that the rest of the world called soccer football- and given how objectively superior it is to a game that pointedly does not involve much foot to ball contact- well we had to mock our version mercilessly.   

        I spot Simon a couple rows down with Abby and the other theater kids.  _ Not that I was looking for him or anything like that. Just a coincidence. _

He’s sandwiched between Abby and Cal Price. Cal’s just plain pretty with those ocean eyes of his, the untamed woodland elf hair, and that southern drawl. I don’t know him that well, but I’ve always gotten queer vibes from him. _Not that I have an especially strong track record on that front. *cough* Simon *cough*_

But still there’s something there. _I wonder… Could he…?_ It’s a tantalizing possibility, especially because then it definitely couldn’t be Martin. _Nah don’t be daft. Because clearly every guy I have a passing fancy for must be Jacques. Or at the very least gay._

My friends are too busy ogling the cheerleaders to have noticed me space out. _Lovely._

Before the game starts there’s the obligatory playing of the national anthem. _I wonder if the band geeks ever get bored of playing it._ None other than golden child, Taylor Metternich, is singing.

I stand up, hand over heart, ready to tune it all out. But then suddenly it gets much more interesting. Taylor only manages to get through the first few bars before the mascot makes a run at the little makeshift stage set up on the field.

She wrestles with the bear for the mic. _I feel like there’s a good goldilocks joke to be made here._

Finally the bear pushes her off the platform, Taylor landing butt first on the pitch. She looks pissed, not that I can blame her. _Upstaged by a bear during her shining moment._

With the mic still in hand, the mascot awkwardly takes off the bear head, revealing… _Martin Fricking Addison._

        Because of course he is. He would be the mascot. He’s already playing the part clowning around everyday at school.  _ Whatever this is, it’s not going to be pretty. _

        Nearly everyone already has out their phones, ready to record and immortalize the impending shitshow.  _ They smell blood in the water.  _ I’m squirming in my seat, anticipating the worst. Praying that it won’t be that bad.

         Martin starts speaking, apparently eager to prove me wrong.

        “Hi everyone, sorry to interrupt. But I have something important to say, even more than the national anthem.”  _ Not self-aggrandizing at all then.  _ “Sorry America.”  _ Yeah not accepted. _

        “Abigail Suso.”  _ Oh no.  _ I see where he’s going now.  _ Basically a promposal on steroids.  _ I know they seem to be friends now.  _ Still weird. Don’t get it.  _ But I’m pretty sure Abby’s not into him that way. Like at all.  _ Which is obvious to just about everyone but him. _

        I glance over at her, deer in the headlights, eyes wide and alert. Not exactly the image of the overjoyed woman about to be wooed by her future beloved. 

        “When you transferred to Creekwood High, a short three months ago, you not only transferred into a new school, but into a new heart.” I start squirming on Abby’s behalf.

“My heart.” _No shit._ “Right here.” He beats his chest for emphasis, destroying any kind of semblance of subtlety or poetry to his pathetic stab at wordplay.

        The silence of the crowd is deafening, half of it simply stunned at Martin’s boldness. The other half is bit more malicious, waiting, in anticipation.  _ The pin about to drop, at any moment now. _

“I have cherished all of the 130,480 minutes we have spent together.” _Oh god he did the math._ “Well, 130,481 now.”

        But also I’m thinking bullshit.  _ You’ve been actual friends with her, what two maybe three weeks. Before then you were vaguely tolerated. Don’t confuse that with someone liking you. _

“I know that you’re this ridiculously smart, talented, perfect creature.” _Oh so close to giving an actual genuine compliment. I don’t know much about girls, but I don’t think they like being objectified as creatures. They’re not another species dude._

        “And I’m just some sweaty schlub in a bear costume.”  _ Not necessarily selling yourself short, but not exactly the stuff of a rousing proposal. _

        “So without further ado…”  _ Thank the lord, spare me. Spare all of us.  _ “Abby, will you do me the honor of going out with me?”

        Abby stands up, all eyes trained on her.  _ Especially those pleading eyes from Martin.  _ She makes her way down the steps, unsure what to do with her hands before they settle into her jacket pockets.

         I honestly don’t know what I’d do in her situation, on the receiving end of a very public proposal that I don’t want.  _ Run away, delete all my social media accounts, move to a deserted island, hope the deserted island has wifi so I can still email Jacques, but ghost on pretty much everyone else… give or take a Garrett. _

_         Okay maybe I do know.  _ That scenario had a little too much detail for comfort.  __

        But Abby is apparently made of stronger stuff than me. She confronts the problem head on.

        “Martin, I am so sorry.”

        If other people had said that it would sound perfunctory, just someone going through the motions of politeness, saying the nice thing not out of kindness but cowardice. But Abby seems to genuinely care that she was about to stomp on Martin’s heart.

        “But I don’t feel that way about you.”

        Martin’s face drops and with it his comedy mask. He’s never looked more vulnerable.  _ More human. _

        Abby says, “Hey, I really like hanging out with you, and I hope we can still be friends.”

        Martin nods, slowly, the full gravity of what he just attempted finally weighing him down.  _ I wanted him to get some kind of comeuppance for being annoying, but not like this. _

        However everyone’s attention is distracted by a couple doves being released from the end zone.  _ Oh my god, he didn’t. _

        “No, no, Siraj, she said no. Cancel the doves.”  _ Dude you have a mic, use it.   _

        But it’s too late. Siraj is either deaf or very committed to the original plan because another pair of doves get released, bright and white against the night sky.

        “So not the ceremonious dove launch I was hoping for.”  _ I mean this all went down pretty much as expected if not worst once I figured out what was going on.. _

        “But still uplifting to free some birds.” I get the feeling he would trade places with those birds in a heartbeat.

        “So yeah okay…” He trails off, looking lost. “Enjoy the game.”

        Dropping the mic to the ground, he leaves one last bit of feedback as a parting gift. He speed walks away, head down. 

        “Nice try Martin.” Mr. Worth attempts to get the other spectators to cheer for their beleaguered classmate.

        He starts to clap and chant, “Let’s go Martin.” There’s a confused and half-hearted effort to follow his lead. It dies down quicker than Taylor Metternich’s attempt to do the national anthem.

        Abby returns to her seat, looking awkward and embarrassed. I just feel sorry for the both of them. Even though it was all on Martin. The way everyone always baited him on to go bigger, he was bound to overreach eventually.         

        Per usual, my feelings are all over my face. Garrett leans over, “Don’t look like that. They’ll get bored and move on to something else. Give it a week or two.”

        Normally I would have faith in people’s short attention spans. But I remember all those phones recording. For better or for worse-  _ definitely for worse _ \- this whole episode was going to be immortalized on the internet.  _ Fails are more click-baity than successes. _

        I shrug non-committedly. “We’ll see.”

        The game kicks off as if nothing had happened.

Abby, uncomfortable with all the sidewise glances and hushed whispers- _plus some rather obvious stares and shameless trolling comments-_ bails before halftime. Nick instantly abandons a visibly upset Leah to go after her.

My eyes follow the huddled pair until they’re out of sight, by which time Nick looked to have put his arm around her.

It’s all so uncomfortably voyeuristic, like some reality show come to life. _The Bachelor with high school students._ Everyone getting off on the public humiliation of Martin Addison (and Abby Soso, unfortunate collateral damage, unwillingly made party of an incredibly public and flaming dumpster fire.)

Simon’s still with Cal, making no move to follow after Abby. _Or Martin, so much for being his friend._ He takes no notice of Leah, who looks visibly out of place, without Nick to be a mediator between her world of the margins and the pageantry of the Homecoming game.

“Hey dude, I’ll be back in a sec.” Garrett nods in acknowledgement as I get up.

        The crowd gets up and cheers as our running back makes a great catch and dashes down the field, avoiding defenders left and right.

I don’t quite know what I’m about to do or why. But regardless I end up awkwardly standing by Leah Burke.

She glances up at me, not even bothering to hide her hurt, commingling with disdain when she realizes it’s me. _Someone’s not over the party._

        Not that I could blame her. I had said some shitty things and never really apologized. Or really acknowledged them in anyway.  _ I guess this is me trying to make amends. _

“This seat taken?”

She pouts and huffs, crossing her legs but making no effort to stop me from sitting down. So I take her silence as a tacit yes. _Which isn’t exactly good practice, but here we are._

We sit in silence, watching the game. I’ve gone as far as I can, my tongue refusing to cooperate with the rest of me. _Typical._

Leah sighs, breaking the silence. “What do you want Bram?”

And just like that she breached the dam. “Just wanted to check if you were doing okay.” I sound stupid to myself. She’s obviously not okay. And here I am, making a spectacle out of it.

        She laughs, slow and bitter. “Yeah, we’re not doing this. Not here and certainly not with you.”

        “Fair,” I’m realizing this is definitely a mistake. “But I just wanted to say sorry about Halloween. That wasn’t-”

        She cuts me off. “Look, we were both drunk, and both said some stupid shit. Let’s just forget it and move on.”  

        I mean she is right. And that’s probably the best policy given how tenuous our “friendship”-  _ acquaintanceship? Is that even a word?  _ \- was to begin with. We don’t owe anything to each other.

        Besides maybe I misread the situation. She doesn’t need a shoulder to cry on.  _ Certainly not mine. _

        “Okay, cool.”

        Feeling summarily dismissed, I get up and start to make my way back to Garrett and the guys, pointedly not looking back. I don’t react well to rejection.

        Garrett leans in, whispering, “What was that about?”

        He gestures to Leah, who is in the process of leaving the bleachers, shoulders slumped, head down, trying to shrink down to the point of invisibility.  _ Not that I’d know anything about that feeling. _

        “Oh, nothing important.”

***

        Martin turns out to be much more memeable than even I anticipated. He goes viral. Like properly viral to the point where strangers from who-knows-where are all commenting, sharing, and liking-  _ and mocking _ \- not just the usual Creekwood High suspects.

        In class, he’s much more subdued. I guess he finally realized that people had been laughing at and not with him.  _ I mean it was bound to happen eventually. _ A brutal reality check.

        He also stops sitting with us at lunch. I suspect he took a cue from every teen movie ever and is either eating in the bathroom or maybe the library to avoid attention. _Bit counterproductive that, nothing attracts more notice than absence._ But I don’t really investigate all that thoroughly. _Not my area._

Not that anyone on the table has anything to say on it all either. Abby refuses to acknowledge it, and we’re all careful to avoid the topic. _Nobody likes stepping into a minefield._

        Simon’s friendship with Martin seems to have ended just as it started, without an apparent rhyme or reason.  _ Could he have a crush on Abby and have a falling out with Martin over it? _

        I’m so over keeping track of the crisscrossing romantic entanglements.  _ Ugh straight people.  _ If I wanted to be part of an incestuous friend group I’d have joined the drama club or the school band.  _ Or queued up an episode of Glee. _

The weeks pass. Full of homework, tests, runs, friends, and of course emailing Jacques. He’s getting nosier, probing at the boundaries of our bubble. _Not that I can blame him._

It’s not like I haven’t been piecing together all the little hints and clues he’s dropped along the way, intentional or not. _Takes French, has Mr. Wise for English, two sisters, likes Elliot Smith_. Which wasn’t that helpful given his refusal to wear band t-shirts that he hadn’t seen live. _C’est la vie._

I’ve also started to daydream about what it would be like. To have a proper boyfriend. Real flesh and blood. To talk to in person, hours on end. To know his voice, hear all those little tics I’ve noticed in his emails spoken aloud. Someone to hold hands with. Or kiss. Or well do other stuff.

But every time it all comes crashing down with the realization I’d have to share him. _That is if he’d even have me._

So I just it let lie. Deflecting, obfuscating, ignoring Jacques attempts to change the terms of our relationship. _If you could call it that._

***

_Happy Hanukkah._ It’ll be the first time seeing my dad since coming out to my mom. So I’ve had plenty of time to psych myself up- _and out_ \- to come out. I wanted to do it person. Seems only fair. _Worst case scenario I just pull the hotel fire alarm and bolt out of there._

It’s not like I’ll have to see him again till New Year’s. _The vagaries of holidays with split families._ Mom laid claim to Thanksgiving and Christmas before the ink was dry, leaving Dad with Hanukkah, New Year’s, and Arbor Day. _Lord help me whenever Passover and Easter overlap._

        Mathematically it’s bound to happen eventually. And I’m pretty sure it would result in a death match. People are always so quick to talk about Judeo-Christian values and lump the two together. But as someone intimately familiar with both, I’ll be the first to vouch they’re different animals.    __

Dad picks me up in his not-a-mid-life-crisis red convertible that he’s definitely leasing because he’s a high school English teacher in the state of Georgia. And then it’s off for a not at all awkward drive to Hotel Hanukkah.

       My mind’s a bit preoccupied with the whole impending Coming Out Thing 2 the Sequel.  _ You’d think it would get easier after the first go around. _

       So far it seems that coming out is like turning a safety valve, releasing a little pressure. Another person to share in my secret. A few less lies to tell. I can breathe and think again. But then all the old fears have room to roost again, beating back the relief.

       This little voice in my head whispering  _ I’m okay now, why rock the boat? _ But now a few weeks later the old suffocation has returned, the walls of the closet all still standing there. I just took a little while to recognize them again.

We’re cramming eight days of celebration into one night. _I’m sure the properly Orthodox would have a heart attack. Well they would if they even considered me Jewish._ Strict rabbinical orthodoxy holds that Judaism is matrilineal, and my mother is pointedly not Jewish.

So that’s just another half-way house I’m living in. It doesn’t escape my notice when the desk receptionist eyes my dad and I like we’re some odd couple during check-in. _Yes we are in fact related, do I have to break out the birth certificate?_

Dad asks me to wait outside the room for a few minutes while he finishes setting things up. _Never learns does he._ It’s not exactly our first rodeo, but he never thinks to check in earlier and have everything ready before picking me up.

Finally get the go ahead to come in, and my irritation fades away ever so slightly. The impeccably wrapped presents- _somebody’s been looking up YouTube tutorials_ -  are lined up on the desk in neat rows. The menorah takes its place of honor on the nightstand, next to a plate of latkes.

Per usual I feel bad about my underwhelming own gift giving efforts. _Aurora coffee, and some English essays… ugh._ Although I am proud of the one on the Picture of Dorian Gray. _Oscar Wilde, as if that’s not a big enough hint for my dad, he can’t exactly claim to be blind-sided._

My first mistake is the waiting to tell him. It’s like a band-aid, should’ve just ripped it off in the car- _but what if he had reacted poorly or was just surprised and we crashed or hit something or someone_ \- my mind just spiraled with the implausible possibilities.  

All that talk of there being-no-perfect-time when I came out to my mom just flies out the window. I’m nervous, so painfully nervous. Forget butterflies in my stomach, it’s like there’s a hornets’ nest.

        And so I wait. Opening his presents to me, one by one. Barely registering what they are, besides the final one.  _ After this I’ll tell him. _

Except once I open it, my resolve deflates like a sad leaden balloon. _Historie de ma vie- Story of My Life by none other than Casa-freaking-nova._

        It almost feels like a prank. Just the irony.  _ Yes let’s give your closeted gay son a book by one of history’s most infamous womanizers.  _ The only that would top it would be a biography of Victor Hugo or something like that.

So I clamp up. Finish going through the motions- be the dutiful and grateful son. We commit to non-lighting of the menorah- _let’s not have the sprinklers literally rain on our parade._

And when I’m finally dropped home at the end of the night, I feel properly miserable. I failed. Completely and utterly. And unless that new year, new me thing is quite drastic and literal, I’m going to be a failure for the foreseeable future.

And so I commit to what I always do when I don’t know who else to talk to. _Email Jacques._


	8. Jacques A Dit "Rumor Has It"

        It’s the twilight zone. AKA that timeless random stretch of days between Christmas and New Year’s. An amorphous holiday blob of waiting for the New Year.  _ A fresh start. _

My original ambitions to use Christmas as a springboard to come out to my mom’s side of the family all at once died when I failed to come out to my dad. I understand that he’s the next person who needs to know. Otherwise he would be beyond hurt. _As it stands, he’ll probably be upset about the lag between telling mom and him._

        But I’m not seeing him until the New Year’s Eve, so Coming Out: Holiday Edition will get punted till Easter.  _ Jesus may rise from the dead, but my “heterosexuality” is going to stay dead and gone. _

Waking up the morning of the 26th, I want nothing more than do absolutely nothing. I’m still recovering from the festivities. _Drunk relatives make for great entertainment in small doses, and definitely passed that threshold yesterday._

         I check my phone to see a late Christmas present arrived overnight.

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Dec 26 at 12:14am**

**SUBJECT: idk**

**Dear Blue,**

**So something happened. It’s been a weird fucking couple days. I’m not really sure what to say (which is unusual for me, I usually have the opposite problem when it comes to these things, just word vomit.) I don’t really want to relive it, way too fresh. It hasn’t really scabbed over yet.**

**I guess I should say that due to circumstances outside my control, I came out to my family yesterday. Everyone took it really well, and I should be happy and relieved and all these wonderful things. But it’s all been poisoned by this one terrible thing. That it wasn’t purely my choice. That my hand was forced. It makes it weird and uncomfortable and leaves me feeling awful.**

**But yeah to get to the main point of why I’m emailing you. I think it’s about to get really obvious who I am. Like everyone at school will know. And I don’t know how to feel about it yet. Or how you’ll feel about it when you find out who I really am.**

**I just feel like everything is about to change in a big way. And I’m angry and scared and I just really need a distraction right now.**

**Love,**

**Jacques**

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Dec 26 at 10:08am**

**SUBJECT: RE: idk**

**Distraction coming right up. Have you tried eating your feelings? I feel like oreos are therapeutic in most situations. Or you can still enjoy Christmas music while it’s still semi-socially acceptable. Try to listen to Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You and not smile.**

**But yeah completely would understand if none of that works. Can’t say speak to your situation specifically (and there’s no obligation to share any of the graphic details of course), but it sounds absolutely horrible. I can’t even imagine being shoved out of the closet (did they find your stash of gay porn? It’s the 21** **st** **century Jacques, use the internet).**

**And in the interest of being (semi)-fair, if you have any guesses, I’d be willing to confirm if you’re right or wrong. Seems weird to finally be about to know who you are without you knowing me. (I’d tell you outright, but well you heard how my aborted attempt coming out to me dad went… I’m very much not good at this.)**

**To be honest, I already have some ideas of who you might be.**

**Love,**

**Blue**

I’m shaking. Properly shaking. I don’t know what I just did. I feel bad about not just ripping off the band-aid and telling him who I am. But I’m also shocked I even offered to unmask myself in the first place. It’s this weird unbalancing act where I feel like I’m doing too much and not enough, and the compromise is even worse.

_It’s a test before making a leap of faith._ If he guesses me, it means he wants Blue to be me. And that’s what I need to hear. That he’s in love with the real me. Not just the idea of Blue he’s built up in his head. _It’s too easy to fall in love with an idea speaking in your own voice._

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Dec 26 at 10:26am**

**SUBJECT: RE: idk**

**Oh. Okay. Big moment here. Here goes my guess.**

**1\. You share a name with a former US president**

        Bram vs. Abraham. I mean, yeah that checks out.

**2\. And a comic book character**

My brain searches desperately to find one that fits. I need him to be right. For both our sakes. I’m about to give up when it hits me.  _ Kind of obscure, maybe he’s a bigger nerd than I gave him credit for. _

**3\. You like to draw**

I mean I have taken art classes. _Because they’re required._ And I doodle in my notes all the time. _Because class is boring._ But just drawing for fun. _Nah._

**4\. You have blue eyes.**

I know all hope is lost now. It’s the nightmare scenario. _The blue-eyed manic pixie dream boy rears his all too pretty head._

**5\. And you once pushed me down a dark hallway in a rolling chair.**

_Someone has a crush. Just not on me._

**Love,**

              **Jacques**

        Well there goes my heart stomped on. The bubble is burst now. No going back to what was before. Somehow telling myself I-Told-You-So is just terribly unsatisfying. But I owe him a response. If I can bring myself to type it.   

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Dec 26 at 10:39am**

**SUBJECT: RE: idk**

**1\. Actually yes.**

**2\. Technically yes, bit obscure though.**

**3\. Not really.**

**4\. No.**

**5\. Definitely not.**

**I’m sorry to say I’m not who you think I am.**

      And I am. Genuinely sorry. That I can’t be who he wants. That this whole little experiment has been run into the ground in four much too short months. There’s no coming back from this.  _ A breach of trust too large to sweep under the rug.  _

      I’m struggling with how to sign off. Love doesn’t really feel appropriate anymore. The feeling’s still there.  _ A bit battered and bruised though. _ But it’s mixed in with other less pleasant and flattering ones.  _ Betrayal, jealousy, anger, and sadness. _

      And so I elide this toxic brew into a (definitely passive-aggressive) dash.

**-Blue**

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Dec 26 at 10:56am**

**SUBJECT: RE: idk**

**Shit, shit, shit.**

**I guess I was dead wrong. I’m sorry, Blue. I really hope this doesn’t make things weird between us. It’s the last thing I’d ever want.**

**Maybe you’ll guess wrong about me too? And then we’ll be even.**

**But I’m thinking you’ve seen what’s on Tumblr. God, I feel like such a complete and utter idiot. Please don’t hate me.**

**Love,**

**Jacques**

I don’t think I could ever hate him. As much as that would make it easier to move on. _Or would it? You’re never done with a person if they can still make you feel something that intense._ It’s better to kill feelings stone dead than have them curdle and poison, festering away.

_Moment of truth._ I don’t understand why I’m going through with my own guess. Maybe I just want to hear the truth directly from him. Give him the chance to declare himself and his identity in something resembling his own terms before it’s told for him by the rumor mill. _A small moment of grace._

If I’m right it would be almost cruel. Rubbing salt in his wounds that he doesn’t know me as well as I know him. But I can feel the pieces falling into place in the back of my mind. All those little hints I’ve accumulated.

Most of them are useless of course. Dead ends. The kinds of things that will only click once it’s obvious and even then only in retrospect.

I start at the pseudonym. People like being clever-clever with them, but usually keep some kind of link with their own name, if only sharing the same initials. _Blue- Bram Louis._

He takes French- _how Romantic, literally._

_        Maybe it’s just a literal translation of his name.  _ One Google search later shows that Jacques is a French version of James/Jacob-  _ because those names being related makes perfect sense _ .

I don’t know any Jakes or Jimmy’s or any variations well enough for this to make a difference. It’s more than likely that Jacques would be someone not on my radar or even in my (admittedly limited) orbit. But something about the randomness galls. _I should know him- we have the same English teacher, he might even be in my period._

I go a bit deeper in my Jacques-internet dive. It’s got this obsessive quality to it. Like I’m some conspiracy nut proving how the Knights Templar, Freemasons, and Illuminati are all a front for lizard people.

But I find something interesting. _Jacques a dit- Simon Says._ I had written off Simon weeks ago. At least as Jacques- _crushes die hard._ And maybe it’s just that residual crush- _wishful thinking 101_ \- but I think they’re the same person.

It would make a certain sense. _Not at all motivated by clicking with him at the party._ He has Mr. Wise for English, Leah’s unrequited crush, his devastation when accidently crashing my make out-session with Taylor- _all signs point to yes._

Water-tight logic- _nope._ But it’s my best guess. _My only guess. Well the only one I want to be true._

**FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**DATE: Dec 26 at 11:24am**

**SUBJECT: RE: idk**

**Tumblr? You mean creeksecrets? I probably haven’t looked at it since like August. (And don’t worry I won’t look)**

**And you’re many things but stupid isn’t one of them. Don’t be too hard on yourself. But I don’t think I’m wrong.**

**Jacques a dit, right?**

**-Blue**

I’m not expecting a response. At least not right away. I don’t know how I would respond in his shoes. _Where would you begin? Ha! Yep you got me. Let’s go back to trading incredibly intimate secrets and innuendos._

My phone buzzes. But it’s not Simon. I don’t know why I’m disappointed. _Old habit._ I don’t know what to think anymore. I need time and space. _Luckily you have until next year to figure shit out. Unfortunate next year is less than a week away._

It’s a text. _Look who suddenly became Mr. Popular._

**Dude I think there’s something you’ll want to see**

      Garrett texts me a couple screenshots.  _ From Tumblr. Creeksecrets.  _ I used to think that blog was basically harmless if not always pleasant. The internet equivalent of those absolutely trash gossip magazines in the checkout lines at the grocery store. Loud but not worth anyone’s time.

      But the aftermath of Martin’s face-plant promposal, well I think I’m just seeing the dark side and id impulses more clearly. I think back to Simon’s offhand comment. _ This can’t be good. _

**Dear dudes of Creekwood,**

**Simon Spier has a secret male pen pal. Because he’s gay. Interested parties may contact him directly to discuss arrangements for anal butt sex. Ladies need not apply.**

**Sincerely, Anonymous**

       And attached are screenshots of my emails with Jacques.  _ No, Simon. That will take a sec to get used to. _

       All our little banalities and banter and flirting on display for public consumption, fodder for gossip and speculation.  _ Nightmares do come true.  _ I would laugh if I didn’t feel like  crying.

       I’m sure it’s already been reported. It will be taken down. But the damage is done.  _ Nothing leaves the internet without a trace. _

      The revelation muddles my feelings even more. One instinct cries out to go comfort Simon. Tell him all those sweet nothings that the world is better than he fears. And that failing that he won’t be alone.  _ Yeah because what he really needs right now is an anonymous penpal who’s either too cowardly or too cruel to reveal their identity. _

       The other is inclined to leave him to the wolves: all those real or imaginary.  _ He was careless not only with his secret but mine too.  _ Even though the pseudonym hides my identity, everything else is out in the open.

       And if no one else connects me to this-  _ if Simon can’t, I don’t see who else possibly could-  _ I’ll be left intimately aware that so much of my inner life is just out there. The most important part of me reduced to a punchline in some anonymous ass’ hit job.

       The pedantic over-explaining mixed with the cringey redundancy of anal butt sex makes me think I have Martin to thank for this. Not that I particularly care about the specifics of the act in this moment.  _ It could be everyone or no one for all I care. What’s done is done. _

_        If I look back, I’m lost. _

       It takes me a moment to realize why Garrett is bringing this all to my attention.  _ Beyond the high school grapevine. _

       Simon wasn’t the only careless one.  _ Aka this is my proper email address. Which Garrett knows. That’s one way to out myself. _

       He’s not exactly the type to be plugged into Tumblr, so it was a calculated risk- not that any of these series of events were in any way planned.

       The fact he’s got a hold of these is just more evidence on how fast it’s spread.  _ Lovely. _

       I must be taking too long to respond because he sends a follow up.

**Would you want to talk about it?**

_       Not especially.  _ But this isn’t exactly something I can just sweep under the rug or shove into the metaphorical closet. But this isn’t exactly a conversation I want to happen over text.  _ Even though it would probably be easier that way. _

**Meet at Cherokee Park?**

**In 5?**

**Sounds good**

I don’t know whose idea it was to name a suburban Georgian park after a Native American tribe infamously evicted from their ancestral lands for a random stretch of Oklahoma because Andrew Jackson is the Worst. _And somehow the genocidal slave owner manages to stay on the $20 bill. This is America._

I make it to the park first. It’s a ghost town. _Good, it’ll just be our haunt._ Between people being out of town for the holidays and the dreary weather, it’s not exactly a prime attraction. I end up sitting on the swing, rocking back and forth, slowly, just to keep busy.

After an eternity, he arrives too.

The silence hangs heavy in the brisk air. I sense he’s waiting for me to start. And I almost want to laugh because it’s exactly how I dealt with Simon’s forcible coming out, trying as much as possible to let him have some control. _Experiencing it first hand, can confirm that it sucks. And he has to deal with the whole fucking world in his business._

        “So yeah, it’s true.” I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to even say it, despite the absurdity of struggling to say something that is common knowledge. But I manage to choke out, “I’m gay.”

“You know this changes nothing, right?” _And I can breathe again._ “I am sorry I had to find out this way.”

“Me too.” _You deserved better. I should have been the one to let you know._ “Look I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages. I just kept getting stuck in my head about it. It really was me, not you.”

His mouth takes a rye turn. “Greenfeld, you breaking up with me?”

“As if you’re even in the same league as me. I can do a million times better than you.”

        We both laugh. And my heart finally settles down.  _ Garrett’s still Garrett. And I’m still me. _

        He takes a seat on the swing next to me. There’s quiet for a beat, just the sound of the creaking playground equipment.

        “And Simon?”

I take in a breath, which happens to sound a lot like a sigh. “I think that’s done now.”

        The reality of that is starting to sink in. Even if he responds to my guess, I’m not all that sure I want to keep up with this whole email thing. It would just be weird to go to lunch and be intimately aware of exactly who he is, while he lives on in ignorance.

        Besides it’s not exactly fair to him. I’m basically rejecting him by not outing myself-  _ not that I have any obligation to, no matter how cute and painfully inept he is.  _ Yeah, he might be worried about fucking it up now, but that won’t last.

        It’s going to hurt in the short term, but everyone will just move on with their lives. This will just be some half-forgotten footnote.  _ Am I trying to convince myself he’ll be okay or that I will be? _

Garrett doesn’t press for which I’m grateful and a little disappointed. It’s not like I actually want to talk about it. But part of me thinks it would be good to check in with another human to see if I’m being crazy or weird about all this. _Not exactly a lot of road maps to figure this shit out._

        Instead Garrett senses he’s veered into dangerous waters and takes a different tack. “Shit this means I was even more of an idiot with Taylor at your party-”  _ And I’ve already forgiven you a million times over. _

I hold up my hand. “I mean technically yeah, but really man you’re all good. I could’ve stopped it at any time if I just grew a spine.”

He doesn’t look especially convinced, brow all furrowed. _You really had the best intentions, and you’ve already apologized, it’s okay._

        So I move on, figuring I won’t be able to convince him on this front. “But also  _ my  _ party? That was all you, friend.”

“I helped with the clean-up didn’t I?” He makes a move to crash his swing into mine, but misses the mark.

        “Shame we didn’t do one for Christmas. Ugly Christmas sweaters, always a classic.”  _ Christmas doesn’t quite work as well for sexy as Halloween now does it.  _ “I mean there’s still technically time before New Year’s if you’re interested Greenfeld.”

“Thanks but no thanks. My liver can’t handle it. Besides I’ll be with my dad this year.” _Every teenage boy’s dream._

And then Garrett goes and asks the obvious question. “Does he know?”

“Not yet. But new year, new me and all that good stuff.” _I hope._

***

_Five. Four. Three. Two. One._

“Happy New Year!” _Another year gone, how’d that happen?_

I’m wearing a ridiculous pair of those glasses shaped to read like the year. _These stopped working after 2009 but people can’t help themselves apparently._

My dad’s got on a matching pair, plus a cheap party hat, and a million other goodies he went out to usher in the new year with a plasticky bang.

        “You clearly have something on your mind. Some girl got you all tied up in knots?”  _ Heteronormativity is one hell of a drug. _

“Something like that.” _Come on he’s serving it up to you on a silver platter. Just do it._

I’ve been sulking all night because well, Simon finally emailed me back. And I don’t know what to do with it. Words are failing me in a big way. And my brain and my heart are not adding any clarity to the situation.

**FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com**

**TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com**

**DATE: Dec 31 at 5:35pm**

**SUBJECT: Sorry**

**Look I know I managed to fuck things up. Blue, I get it. Just because I was careless doesn’t mean I get to pressure you into revealing yourself before you’re ready. The genie’s out of the bottle for me, and there’s nothing we can do about that.**

**I know anonymity was part of the formula that made this work. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my end of the unspoken bargain. I’m so sorry.**

**But I want to get to know you for real. You’re one of my best friends, and even if you don’t find me attractive or whatever, I’ll get over it and make it work.**

**I can’t lose you completely. Everything’s falling apart. I just really need a friend right now. If there’s any way we can go back, I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me alone.**

**Love,**

**Simon**

“Anything you would want to talk about?”

“Look, Dad. What would you do if someone you’ve gotten close to betrayed your trust in a big way?”

He shifts in his seat, sitting at attention, placing down the celebratory champagne on the coffee table. “How big we talking?”

“I have a secret. And I trusted them with it. And they let me down. It’s not exactly out there, but it’s much less of a secret than it was before if that makes any sense.” My dad nods, intent on every word.

        “But they’re in a rough spot, and I don’t know whether to forgive them or forget about them or I don’t even know what.”

        “Bram, I know you like playing at being the hero. But you can’t save everyone.”  _ Not if I don’t even try. _

        “Especially not at the cost of yourself.” I flinch.

        “It sounds like whoever you’re talking about really hurt you. And it’s okay to take some time for yourself to figure out what you want to do. I know everything feels life and death at your age, but sometimes walking the slower path pays off.”

        My palms are sweating. I can’t make eye contact; my line of sight keeps gravitating toward the floor. “I’m gay, Dad. That’s the big secret.”

He goes in for a hug. _Wow my parents really make a habit of this, don’t they?_

        “Hi gay. I’m Dad.”  _ Oh fuck him.  _ I laugh besides myself, mixed in with a few tears, happy and sad.  _ I mean that’s one way to break the tension. _

        “But seriously thank you for telling me, Bram. I’m glad you finally feel comfortable enough to do that.”

        The way he phrases it begs the question. “Did you know?”

        He breaks off from the hug. “Did you know Casanova was bisexual?”  _ That answers that question.  _ “Look I didn’t know anything, Bram. I had my suspicions of course. Especially given your distinct lack of interest in all the bare-naked ladies on Game of Thrones when we watched together.”

         I whack him with a pillow off the sofa. “DAD!” I’m beyond scandalized.  _ I can never watch that show again. Sorry Jon Snow. _

***

        That night I open up Gmail on my phone.  _ New Year, New Me.  _ My dad’s advice ringing in my ear, I hit confirm.  _ bluegreen118@gmail.com is dead and gone. _


	9. Picking Up the Pieces

        It’s almost a relief to be back at school. Get back into the regular boring routine.  _ It’ll keep me busy.  _ No more thinking about Simon. Or college apps.  _ Which yeah, will be hearing back any day now. _

        That plan is immediately ruined first period.  _ Like it always was going to be. _ Willful ignorance doesn’t beat reality. When I walk in, he’s not there yet. But it’s only a matter of time. Even in his absence, my mind can’t help but think about why he’s not here.  _ Yet. _

        People file in from the hallway. Nick and Abby arrive hand in hand, only parting when Mr. Wise raises an eyebrow.  _ When did that happen? I mean good for them. And about time. But also they’ve been circling each other for weeks and nada. _

        I sigh internally.  _ Straight people. _

       The final bell rings. And now I’m worried.  _ Holiday bug? Or something much, much worse… _  My mind spirals with the possibilities.  _ Homophobic bullies jumped him before school. Or maybe he’s refusing to leave his bed, too beaten down to face everyone in person. _

        With everyone seated, Mr. Wise starts introducing the latest reading assignment.  _ The Stranger by Albert Camus.  _ Without really knowing anything about it, the title seems like a bit like a kick in the teeth.  _ How much did we even really know about each other? _

        Simon tries to slip in, but it’s much too late to be subtle. He flashes an apologetic smile Mr. Wise’s way.

        I notice some crumpled paper in his hand. He drops it into the bin as he hurries to his seat, all eyes on him. I force myself to look away. To stop gawking at something as ordinary and mundane as a fellow student arriving late.  _ If only that was the whole of the story. _

        Mr. Wise resumes his lecture, forgiving the interruption.  _ How much do the staff know? Would Simon’s parents have notified the administration? Or is he just in a forgiving mood after not having to deal with us for a couple weeks? _

        I’m not able to focus.  _ Somehow some whiny French guy’s existentialism and need to point out the absurdity of reality doesn’t come off well when I’m staring down my own existential demons. _

       Thoughts circling back to Simon.  _ And Blue.  _ I’m still committed to cutting him off. I just didn’t realize how different it would be to see the consequences of what has until now been a purely theoretical decision.  _ As much as it would hurt to continue on as if nothing had happened, seeing the damage up close is something else. _

       The bell rings, signaling the end of first period. Most people rush out, but I linger, taking my time to pack up my books. Mr. Wise is focused on something on his computer monitor, so when I make my way to the bin, he doesn’t even bother to look up.

       Given it’s first period, it’s thankfully empty except for the paper Simon tossed in earlier. I snatch it, and make my way to an isolated stairwell to view my ill-gotten loot.

        I carefully unfold the paper, trying to avoid tearing it as tape sticks at the folds.

        It’s a poster for the play. With a rude and quite explicit caricature of Simon drawn on.   _ American Vandal style. Someone took that anonymous hitjob literally. _

        His name in the casting list is circled with red sharpie. His role-  _ Fagin’s Boy _ \- predictably edited and underlined for emphasis.  _ Gotta love unimaginative homophobia. _

        It’s all clearly some neanderthal jock’s juvenile idea of a joke.  _ I’m surprised they didn’t include a used jock strap as a “present.” _ In my mind’s eye, I can see the idiots egging each other on, trying to outdo each other to reinforce their fragile masculinity at Simon’s expense.  

        I tear the poster to shreds and dump the scraps in a nearby trash can-  _ where I should have left it in the first place.  _ Simon must have been shell-shocked to dispose of it as carelessly as he did.  _ Then again how many people go rummaging in garbage on a hunch. _

My heart breaks for Simon all over again. Even if most people seem pretty chill about the whole thing, it only takes a couple of shitheads to completely ruin someone.

_        You could help. All it takes is one email. _

        But I don’t even know what to say anymore. My initial raging jealousy and hurt that Simon guessed someone else has cooled down to a dull stinging disappointment. And as much as I feel for Simon, it all just reminds me why I’ve been so guarded.

        Staying on the sidelines is untenable.  _ Being a silent bystander is endorsing this bullshit.  _ But coming forward means facing more of the same.  _ Just directed at me this go around. _

_        There’s no easy answer. What do I do now? _

***

_         Lunch is going to be beyond awkward.  _ I’m sitting with the usual crew. Waiting. Simon isn’t here yet, so I’m mostly tuning everyone out as background noise, wondering if he’ll actually show up. And I’ll have to face him properly.  _ Not that he’ll know anything. _

        Most people are paranoid that everyone is looking at them when they enter a room. It’s all in their head. If it happens at all, it’s not even a conscious thing on the part of the occupants. Just pure instinct. Their eyes attracted to sudden motion.

        But when Simon enters the cafeteria, for once all eyes are legitimately on him, ready to dissect his every move. He looks mournfully in our direction, but doesn’t make a move to sit with us.

Anna goes up to Simon, chattering away with him about something. She’s being suspiciously bubbly. She indicates our table. _An invitation. She’s welcoming him back into the fold if there’s any doubts on his end._

        Nick and Abby are stone-faced. Leah seethes in her seat, staring down Anna, looking likely to start muttering a few choice curse words. I exchange a glance with Garrett, but he just shrugs, not knowing what’s up with them either.  _ You’d think they’d rally around their friend.  _

Abby notices our little exchange. “Simon’s not exactly in our good graces at the moment.”

        Nick chimes in, “It’s complicated.”

        He quickly realizes leaving the details of this particular situation to our imaginations has some decidedly homophobic implications and says, “But it’s not about…”

        He gestures weakly at the empty air, unwilling to say it aloud, which gets me all riled up.  _ He’s gay and we all know now. But not by his choice. It’s not some dirty little secret, stop treating it that way. _

        “Well you know,” he ends weakly.

        Abby elaborates, “Long story short, he lied to and manipulated us for weeks. So no, he won’t be welcome at this table for a little while.”  _ Well yikes. _

        I can’t say I’m completely surprised. Not that I know the details of whatever the fuck is going on.  _ How exactly did Abby, Nick, and Leah all get wrapped up into the fallout of this too? The timing’s too suspicious for them not to be related.  _ There are all these puzzle pieces, but they don’t quite fit together.  _ Probably because I’m missing quite a few. _

        But Simon sounded very alone in his last few emails. And if he alienated his friends somehow… well that would fuck with someone in the best of times.  _ And we all know that this is the worst of times. _

Anna returns to the table, no Simon in tow. _So much for that olive branch._ Leah pulls her and Morgan aside, presumably to explain whatever’s going on. I can’t help but notice that no one clues me in. _Good to know where we all stand._

Not that I should presume to be entitled to everyone’s business, especially given I have more than my fair share of secrets. _Sorry, Simon._

He takes a seat at an empty table. Alone. And just like that a new status quo is established. He’ll be stuck in high school purgatory. And if I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth, there’s nothing I can do about it.

I return despondently to my lunch. Suddenly much less hungry.

There’s music playing. That’s the first indication something is wrong. All eyes divert from Simon to something else. _This can’t be good._

Aaron and Spencer parade through the cafe, acting like their own hype-man. I notice Spencer’s wearing a shitty wig askew on his head paired with a haphazardly wrapped scarf about his neck. _Wha?_

Before I can quite process what’s going on, they’re standing on one of the tables.

“This one’s for you, Spier.” _Nope definitely not good._

The two bob head’s in and out, making puckering sounds in a parody of toddler’s idea of making out. I get what’s going on now. I shrink into my seat, trying to keep my face straight- _unlike the rest of me._

         I don’t dare look to see how Simon or Ethan are reacting. I don’t trust myself to keep it together.

_         Oh so now that there’s two, they obviously need to be paired off and made fun of together. Real equality there. _

They transition into a weak grinding routine, Aaron letting out little yelps as Spencer pretends to smack his rear. Most everyone seems to be in varying levels of shock or disgust. But no one makes a move to intervene against this grotesque display. Not even something simple like heckling them. Not a one. _They’re just here for their entertainment._

Garrett’s hands are balled into fists, his legs pounding the tiled floor, bouncing up and down faster than my beating heart. I plead with him, using only my eyes. _Please don’t._ The last thing I need is him getting in trouble for fighting, even if it’s provoked and more than justified. _You can’t trust that the administration will be fair._

Thankfully Ms. Albright intervenes before Garrett’s self-control runs out. She unplugs the speaker.

Aaron greets her with a lackadaisical, “Hey Ms. Albright.” _Are they that dumb that they’d think there wouldn’t be any consequences for that little display?_

“Don’t hey Ms. Albright me. We are not friends. You’re not gonna braid my hair or paint my nails. Now get your ass off that table.”

        There’s a low ooohhh at the sight of a teacher cursing that curdles before it can get started when Ms. Albright swivels her death glare about the cafe. Aaron and Spencer descend without a moment’s hesitation.  

        Something must have snapped in because she goes further, “You sweaty hormonal virgins. You’re about to be suspended for so long that by the time it’s over, you’re gonna be the fat, bald, unhappily married, wildly mediocre nobodies you’re destined to become.”  _ There’s a reassuring fairy tale. _

Spencer protests, “You can’t talk to us like that.” _At least not without a couple angry calls from scandalized parents, hopefully she has tenure._

But this is very much a hill Ms. Albright is prepared to die on. “Actually I can, because I just did. And you wanna know why?”

Spencer stops Aaron from answering the obviously rhetorical question.

“Because you’re just those assholes that did that shitty thing in front of the whole school. And nobody feels sorry for those assholes, especially not me.”

        In a voice that brooked no opposition, she finishes with a command. “Mr. Worth’s office. Now.”

        She escorts them from the stunned cafeteria. A million different conspiratorial whispers start up once she’s out of range, everyone digesting a particularly juicy bit of gossip.  _ Because that’s all it is to them. Simon’s and Ethan’s feelings be damned. _

***

The final bell rings and I don’t particularly feel like going home. Not after the bizarre and uncomfortable day it’s been. _And that’s just as a witness._

        So I decide just to wander around school grounds, hoping the walking will help me clear the jumble of conflicted thoughts and feelings in my head. The air is brisk, which provides a bracing clarity all on its own.

        Earbuds in, I pointedly avoid the playlist of songs recced by Simon.  _ That’s the last thing I need right now.  _ Instead I opt for some old favorites that take me back to simpler times, helping put me at ease.  _ Relatively speaking. _

        It all comes back to the same old binary choice. Learn to live with doing nothing, protecting my secret at all costs.  _ But will there be anything left worth protecting if I keep abandoning him to the not-so-tender mercies of idiots like Spencer and Aaron. _

        Or I come forward and we can maybe take on everything together.  _ If he’ll still want anything to do with me after I ghosted when he needed me most. How forgiving is Simon? Can I even forgive myself?  _

        My thoughts are interrupted when I spot Simon and Martin together in the parking lot. They seem to be arguing. Martin is gesticulating wildly, trying to redirect the waves of rage radiating his way.

_        Oh Simon.  _ I’ve never seen him angry before. He looks like a wounded animal, baring his teeth and projecting big because he (probably) feels small, trying to scare off all comers.

        I crouch low behind some hedges, peering through the foliage as the scene continues to unfold.  _ Last thing I need is to be caught eavesdropping by either one of them. _

        Not that I can hear much.  _ But is it worth the risk of trying to get closer?  _ By the time I reach a decision, it’s a moot point.

Simon’s voice rises on a wellspring of emotions- _all of them bad_ \- and I catch his parting words, “So look, can you please just leave me the fuck alone.”

        I flinch on Martin’s behalf, feeling as if a fair amount of that hurt and rage is directed my way.  _ Blue’s way. Same fucking difference. _

        Simon storms off. He gets in his car, speeding away. The air has an unnatural stillness about it, like the aftermath of a lightning strike. Nature’s still holding its breath, waiting to see if another will bolt down from the heavens.

        I’m tempted to intercept the visibly shaken Martin before he can slink away. Piece together what’s going on. _But it’s none of my business._ _Not anymore._

***

_Happy Birthday to me._ I’m eighteen. A real adult. _At least from a strictly legal standpoint._

        Our ragtag lunch table has a tradition when it’s anyone’s birthday, we all chip in and buy a cake. Two in this case because Morgan had her birthday over the weekend. Given the abundance of cakey goodness, Garrett doesn’t even need to worm his way into getting two slices.

        Leah and Simon seem to be back to being friends. He’s returned to our lunch table with her apparent blessing. Nick and Abby just ignore him, but they’re not leaving in a huff, so some kind of detente must have been reached.  _ And I’m still none the wiser. _

Leah is buzzing around Simon, helping him to reintegrate. I can’t meet his gaze. In fact, I look at everyone in turn but him. But my ears are pricked and can’t help but focus in whenever he says even the most innocuous thing. _Get a grip._

Nick and Abby are being particularly conspicuous with the PDA today. They’re smushed together like some mad scientist’s experiment gone wrong. Where one begins and the other ends is honestly open to debate.

         Given Simon’s return is the one new element in the carefully balanced lunch table ecosystem since they’ve become official, it’s as if they want to shove their relationship in his face.  _ Weird flex but okay. _

         However, it seems to be annoying Leah more than Simon, who seems mostly grateful not to be exile.  _ Could she be jealous? Nick and her gave it a go before the culmination of Nabby? Abick? Wow they really don’t have any good couple names. _

         Anna and Morgan are chatting with Simon about all the cute guys they’d pair him with. One name-drops Cal. Simon, who has consistently been a shade of pink throughout this whole discussion, blushes even harder.

         I feel something bubble up in the pit of my stomach.  _ No jealousy there.  _ I can’t help but think back to the homecoming game, the way Simon was chatting up Cal, seeming only to have eyes for him.  _ I wonder if that who he was thinking of when he tried to guess my identity. _

Abby seems to sense that Leah is feeling a bit off because she announces, “We should totally try finding Leah a boyfriend too.” _She means well, but that was a mistake._

        “No fucking thank you, Abby.” Leah’s got this facade of pleasantry, the thinnest polite veneer on top of a volcano of rage. Without another word she shoves in her chair and leaves.

         I sit there as dumbstruck as the rest of them. I exchange a look with Garrett that could be best summed up as  _ what-the-fuck?  _ If we weren’t friends with Nick thanks to soccer and I wasn’t absurdly invested in Simon-  _ what’s a crush? _ \- well I would suggest bailing on this whole mess in an heartbeat.  

        “If you like her, just ask her out.” Simon snaps, staring me down. I blink, startled, not quite sure that he’s talking to me at first. Then my brain catches up with my ears.  _ Oh, shit. _

        My cheeks flush, and I’m struck speechless.  _ He thinks… oh my god, I’m a fucking idiot.  _ He saw me kiss Taylor at the party. He wrote me off weeks ago, same way I did him. _ No it’s worse than that. I was just being a heteronormative idiot, he had something more concrete to go off on. _

As for why he’d think Leah was the object of my affection. Well he was really wasted at the party, maybe he thought I was flirting with her outside the bathroom, if he remembers that at all. And then at the Homecoming Game. From the outside that could look like something more than it was.

_         And when are Leah and Simon apart? Maybe all my little sideways glances were less furtive than I thought?  _ He could easily think I was checking her out instead.

_Well shit._

***

       “I don’t  _ know _ what to do, Garrett. That’s why I’m asking you for advice.” I resist the urge to slam my head back against my headboard.

He rolls his eyes, which I distinctly don’t appreciate. I normally try to solve most problems by myself. I like being the person people come to for advice, not the advisee. It’s a sign I’m at defcon 1 that I’m even talking to Garrett. I figured he’d be easier to talk to than my parents. So far that hasn’t been the case.

        “No, you’re not. You just want me to tell you what to do.”  _ More or less.  _ “Or tell you it’s okay to do nothing and ease that obviously guilty conscious of yours.”  _ Since when has he been Mr. Emotional Intelligence?  _ “Which yeah no, it’s your life dude. You actually have to decide. Take some responsibility.”

        “I have been trying to decide for days now.”  _ Agonizingly long days. Back and forth. Paralyzed by indecision. _

        “Yes we all know you’re the king of overthinking. Remember Hamlet? That’s why basically everyone dies.”

_That’s actually a good point._ But rather than concede, I go for the obvious feint. “Wait, you actually paid attention to Hamlet?”

“Bram, how dare you underestimate my knowledge of classic literature?” I raise one quite skeptical eyebrow. “Fine, Kate Winslet was hot in the movie version.” _This makes more sense._

But Garrett won’t let me get away that easily as he says, “But my point still stands. You have to stop thinking about doing something and just actually do it.” _What is this paid promotion from Nike?_ “You don’t get a gold star for good intentions.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right. Because it means I’ll have to commit to coming out. To at least Simon. Maybe the whole school even. _Uggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh._

        I suffocate myself with my pillow, before tossing it at Garrett. My aim is very much not true but he goes out of his way to catch it to be an ass.

        “So you actually want me to go full big gesture, boombox at the window, rom-com style? That’s just not me.” Just way too sincere and genuine.  _ And vulnerable. _

        “Look you don’t have to change who you are. For whatever reason Simon seems to like the you he met in those emails. Just be Bram and it’ll work out.” He sounds pretty confident, but then again he doesn’t have to live with the consequences if it all goes wrong.  _ Well it kinda already did. _

        “Yeah but what would Bram do?”  _ Oh god talking about myself in third person, that’s a new low. _

        “You tell me dude.”

        “I hate you. But thanks.” The gears are starting to grind away in my brain, generating something like an idea. It’s not big like Martin’s whole mascot fiasco. But it’s a start.

***

        It’s after school. He’ll be involved in last minute rehearsals for the play in the lead up of the premiere. Which means his locker should be clear for me to drop off my attempt at a grand gesture.

        It’s nothing much. Just a t-shirt with an Elliott Smith logo in an innocuous enough looking plastic bag. I loop it through the handles of his locker, hands shaking for no good reason.

I bought the shirt weeks ago. Still not quite sure why. I had this daydream about getting him a Christmas present. Nothing big, just something physical and material that’s realer than the bridge of ones and zeroes that connect us. _Connected._

       Of course, when I didn’t know who he was, it wasn’t exactly a good plan. But I went through with it anyway. Maybe hoping one day I’d have the means to deliver it. And failing that it could be a memento. A token of old affections.

        I slip in the note, hoping it will be enough. Praying even.

**I’m thinking Elliott Smith would understand that you’d have made it to his shows if you could have.**

I have another note taped to the fabric inside. If he accepts the gift, he’ll see it or feel it. And then I’ll know if I messed this up irrevocably.

**P.S.  I love the way you smile when you think no one is looking. I love your perpetual bed-head. I love the way you bite your lower lip when your concentrating really hard on something. And I love those gray eyes. So if you think, even for a moment, that I’m not attracted to you, Simon Spier, you’re crazy.**

       And then below that my number. Printed out in careful clean lines. He can call or text or just hear my voice on my voicemail and know who I am.  _ We’re even. No more masks. No more hiding behind Blue. _


	10. Stop! In the (Supreme) Name of Love

        A couple weeks have passed since my shirt gambit and, well, radio silence. He’s never worn the shirt- _apparently, he’s nothing if not consistent and principled about not wearing merchandise of people he hasn’t see in concert._ For all I know it’s in some dumpster somewhere.

        Not going to lie, it’s a blow. I don’t know what I expected. It’s the dictionary definition of doing too little too late. _Typical._

        A semblance of normality is slowly returning. Somewhere along the line, Abby and Nick have forgiven Simon for his unknown crime. With him in their good graces again, our ramshackle lunch table has had its delicate balance restored. _Kind of._

        There’s a new disruptive influence, even though I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who cares. _Cal. Cal. Cal._ I don’t if it was Anna’s or Morgan’s idea, but one of them invited him to our lunch table. Likely inspired by the incredibly blushing Spier in our midst.

        Simon definitely has a thing for him. Which would be fine on its own- _probably_ \- but then Cal just has to not-so-subtly drop the bombshell that he’s bi. _The one fricking time my gaydar works, it has to sabotage me like this._

        So now I have to play the same waiting game of watching two people with feelings dance around them and each other until someone makes a move. Only this time instead of mild irritation at the Straights, I get a front row seat to see my heart get stomped on in real time.

        But in this particular moment, I’m in the audience at the school play. The administration in a show good faith that they support the arts and all that jazz has the cast put on performances for the under and upperclassmen in turn during school hours. Most students spend it on their phones or in semi-hushed conversations, despite the teachers patrolling up and down the aisles, trying to maintain a semblance of order.

        Normally I’d be a million miles away, daydreaming about this or that thing. Like I know I should pay attention, but I can’t be bothered to care for Oliver Twist, even with knowing a good chunk of the cast.

        And despite the fact he doesn’t have a single line in the whole damn thing, my eyes perpetually follow Simon. His every little movement across the stage. The way the stage make-up makes his eyes pop, even from a distance.    

        _Does he still think of me? As the boy who abandoned him and then tried to walk it back as if nothing happened?_

        Soon enough it’s over. And the entire cast is taking their bows, living in their shining moment. Abby and Simon even make a point to drag Cal onto the stage, to give the stage manager his due.

        He looks so painfully awkward and lost not being behind the scenes that I almost feel for him. But then I see Simon put his arm around him and I just can’t be bothered anymore.

        The play ends with the school day. I make my way from the auditorium to my locker, resisting the urge to look back and torture myself seeing Simon and Cal together.

        My phones buzzes and I check to see a text from Garrett.

**Dude you need to checkout Creeksecrets.**

        _What could it be this time?_ My first thought is that someone finally made a wild guess that hit home about who the Blue of Simon’s email is. There have a been a couple posts speculating wildly making the rounds since the initial bombshell. _Nothing intrigues people like a mystery._

        It’s a letter. _Addressed to the whole freaking school._ I look up to see everyone is on their phones, admittedly not that an unusual sight, however the conspiratorial whispering is.

_Simon Spier you are something else._

        **Dear Students of Creekwood,**

**As anyone with a half decent data plan already knows, a recent post on this very site declared I was gay. The delivery left something to be desired, but the message is true. I am gay.**

        **For a long time, I was killing myself to hide that fact. I had all these reasons. That it was unfair that only gay people had to come out. I was sick of change. But the truth is I was just scared.**

**At first, I thought it was just a gay thing. But then I realized, no matter what, announcing who you are to the world is pretty terrifying. Because what if the world doesn’t like you?**

**So I did whatever I could to keep my secret. I hurt the best, most important people (in my life, in the world). And I want them to know that I’m sorry.**

**I’m done being scared. I’m done living in a world where I don’t get to be who I am. I deserve a great love story.**

_And I won’t stand in your way._

        **Disclaimer, this is about to get romantic as fuck, so anyone adverse to gratuitous feelings, kindly click over to finish that BuzzFeed quiz about how your Panic! At the Disco preferences will reveal what kind of grape you are or resume the porn you paused to read this.**

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh no._ I’m waiting for the penny to drop. To see Simon Spier declare his affection for Cal in front of the whole school- _no, the whole damn world_ \- in this big romantic gesture I couldn’t hope to even strive for.

**This guy I love once wrote that he felt like he was stuck on a Ferris wheel. On top of the world one minute, at rock bottom the next. That’s how I feel now.**

**I couldn’t ask for more amazing friends, a more understanding family. But it would all be so much better if I had someone to share it all with.**

**So Blue,**

And I can breathe again. I thought… hoped… well it’s so much easier to expect the worst. _Because then you can’t be disappointed._

_Allegedly._

**I might not know your name or what you look like, but I know who you are. I know you’re funny and thoughtful. That you choose your words carefully and that they’re always, always perfect. And I know that you’ve been pretending for so long, it’s hard to believe that you can stop. I get it.**

        My eyes are starting to water a bit- _allergies._

**Like I told you at the very beginning, I’m just like you.** _No, you’re better._

_I could never have survived being outed so totally and publicly. Especially not with the grace he handled it with. And now this. Simon, you amaze me._

**So Blue, after the play, Friday night, at 9:00, there’s a carnival and I think you’ll know where I’ll be. No pressure for you to show up, but I hope you do. Because you deserve a great love story too.**

        **Love,**

**Simon**

       

        _Well I’m speechless, so much for always having the right word to say._

 

**??????????**

**Dude did you read it**

**Yeah**

**Well……**

**I need some time to think**

**> :(**

        But really there’s nothing to think about. It’s just an automatic response, a way to deflect from the fact that this whole saga will be decided one way or the other in a couple days.

        It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more. A boy laying it all on the line. For me.

_If he can be that brave, so can I._

**Fine**

**I’m taking the plunge**

**Be ready to pick up the pieces**

***

        _I’m late._ I’m dashing through the carnival, narrowly avoiding crashing into half a dozen different people. _Relax they said._ Ignoring the irritated glares, I hand out mumbled sorrys like candy on Halloween. _Take a nap they said._

        The operative they being Garrett of course. He thought it would calm my nerves before the big event. Well now that I’m late to my own big public coming out thing they’re even more frayed. _I’ll probably snap before this night is done._

        There’s a whole crowd around the Ferris wheel. Pretty much everyone I know, and more than a few I only recognize by sight. Intimidating to say the least. But I’m not the main attraction. _Yet. That’ll change if this goes according to plan._

The crowd is throwing me. Like I know Simon’s message was for public consumption so as to find its way to me, but I didn’t expect everyone to be so invested to the point of showing up too.

They’re all watching Simon, expectantly, and I’m getting flashbacks to the crowd at Martin’s figurative faceplant. _They’re here for the spectacle, either way it goes, it’s all just in the entertainment value. The Bachelor (Live!) with gay teenagers._

        Either I show up, and they get a cute romantic moment to document and dissect in a half million ways. Or I don’t, and they get heartbreak and humiliation on display.

        Or the worst of all possible worlds, I show up only to get my heart stomped on. _He says he loves me. But can you love someone you haven’t met? How do you know it’s not just infatuation? A crush on the idea of a person on steroids?_

        But then I see enough friendly faces to cut short this thought death spiral. Nick and Abby have their arms around each other, gazing up at the Ferris wheel. Leah is muttering under her breath, a prayer for Simon or choice curse words being flung Blue’s way, who knows.

        And Garrett is there too. On standby if this all really does go to shit. _I’ll never lose him, no matter what._

        Simon’s riding in one of the cars alone. His eyes are alert, scanning the crowd. Anticipating. _The boy who waited. Long enough, I think._

But before I make my move, the wheel grinds to a halt. The attendant indicates for Simon to get off- _end of the line. I’m too late._

Well technically no, I could step up right now. There’s no hard rule that the invitation to come forward expires the moment he gets off that Ferris wheel. It’s not like I’m Cinderella running up against my very own magical midnight deadline.

        But it still feels like I’m missing my moment, when the music would pick up in a movie as I make a last-minute appearance, riding to the rescue of the dashing hero who’s completely in over his head.

        And if I don’t step out of the shadows now, his heart will harden against me. There will likely be one too many disappointments and heartbreaks for him to bear. I’m feeling lucky enough to get this second chance, to do it right this time.

        My limbs refuse to cooperate with my renewed resolve. _Am I really about to let my perpetual awkwardness get in the way of my happy ending?_

        Martin, of all people, makes a move, rushing forward. “Simon, it’s me, I’m Blue.”

        The crowd loves a good plot twist, but Simon dismisses him out of hand, not entertaining Martin’s sleight of hand for a second. “No you’re not.”

        And I have to smile. The smallest number of props for Martin for trying to lessen the ego blow but, per usual, he goes about it in the worst of all possible ways. _What did he think was going to happen?_

        “No, I am not.” He gestures to the assembled masses, waiting with baited breath, still recovering from the shock of Martin just maybe being Blue- _judging them for that._ “This is just so brutal, man.”

        Some credit is due when Martin pays off the attendant for another turn with some crumpled bills. Between the cash and the fact that the he’s clearly not paid enough to deal with this bullshit means Simon’s still holding out.

        “Last call for the Ferris wheel.” _Now or never._

        I stride forward, trusting inertia will keep me moving in the right direction. _No turning back._

I see in the periphery of my vision shock, electric and viral, overtake the crowd. And I kind of enjoy the thrill of that. The overlooked quiet boy having his moment in the sun. _Well under the moon and stars, among the twinkling lights of the carnival._

I don’t know what people were expecting, but apparently it isn’t me. _I’ll being winning an Oscar for this performance, five years and counting of putting on a straight face._

        “Can I sit there?” _That’s one opening line for sure._ But I’m like a vampire, without an explicit and direct spoken invitation, I’m hopeless and awkward and will just hover.

        “I’m kind of waiting for somebody.” _Oh you beautiful idiot. You’re not going to let this be easy for me._ I can’t tell if he’s just being sarcastic or is genuinely confused. Either way, my cheeks flush.

        I scuff my feet against the dirt and straw floor of the grounds, trying to channel my nerves. “Yeah, I know.”

        The light-bulb flashes. _Oh, so he was serious._ “It’s you.”

        “It’s me.” I slide in next to him, trying to negotiate the space between us, even a momentary brushing of our knees sending me spinning.  

        His eyebrows knot in confusion. “But Taylor? That night at the party?” _Not my finest hour._  

        “Yeah, well I was drunk,” _Working up the courage to talk to a cute boy encourages some indulgence._ “And confused.” _One last stab at being straight._ “And it ended like a minute after you saw us.” _I kissed a girl and I most certainly did not like it._

        It takes effort to stop myself from rambling on and on and on. For some reason it’s really important to me for him to know that. That we didn’t go any further, just how stillborn and meaningless that little make out session was.

        “And you’re Jewish?” _Someone’s a little slow on the uptake, but then again, I’ve known who he is for like a month now. Plenty of time to get used to the idea._

        “Yeah. Black and gay too.” _What is intersectionalism?_ I have to laugh, as if I hadn’t heard that question a million different times.

        “Which is cool.” _Smooth save there bud. You’re lucky you’re cute._

        I finally notice he’s wearing the Elliott Smith shirt I got him. “I like your shirt.” _And I’m just as smooth. It’s a match made in heaven._       

        He goes all bashful. “Yeah, got your message. Just took me some time to find.” _Stupid gambit that. But hey it did manage to pay off._

“Was this before or after announcing your intentions to the whole world?”

        “After. Decided to wear the shirt for luck and found that extra note. And by that point I thought it would be fairer to wait and see if you showed up tonight.” He bites his lower lip, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

        “Because I thought if you were hoping for me to be Blue, you’d have guess it yourself.” He flinches, and I backtrack. “Completely unfair of me, of course.” _I almost lost you to the fantasy of the perfect courtship, not a mistake I’ll make again._

        The wheel starts to turn. The ascent is slow, the tension building every second. We look at each other out of the corner of our eyes, not quite trusting that this is really happening. At least I don’t. I have no idea what’s going on in that cute head of his.

_No more protection of the screen, no more curating and filtering the best version of myself. It’s just me and him, real life. Absolutely terrifying._

        We reach the top. _Would now be a good time to mention I’m scared of heights?_ And all those initial jitters about coming out are being replaced those of a different sort. I stare into his eyes, drowning in the stormy gray.

        And I ask the one and only question that matters. “Are you disappointed it’s me?”

        He shakes his head, “Never.”

        There’s a beat. _Stop and stare._ He starts leaning in, eyes flashing in the carnival lights. I thought I would be a pile of nerves, but I’m so ready for this moment. I move in to meet him, lips touching lips.

        And the kiss is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I thought my ill-fated make-out session with Taylor would give me an idea of what it would be like. But they’re like comparing a black hole and a supernova.  

        Fireworks are a terrible metaphor. Distant, loud, and demanding (and they make puppies cry) when everything about this kiss is so immediate and tactile and just perfect.

We transition right into the next in a fluid movement. And then another. And another. Each an adventure in of itself.

        The crowd below starts cheering, but I couldn’t care less. The boundaries of the world have contracted leaving just me and Simon and his incredibly kissable lips in this little bubble. _Just like in our emails._ But we couldn’t exactly do this online.

        We descend, but my head’s still up there with the clouds, not quite processing that this isn’t some elaborate dream or prank. _I just made out with Simon Spier. Like how many times did I fantasize about this? Way too many if we count both the ones with Simon and those with Jacques together._

        Getting off the ride we’re almost mobbed as everyone tries to get a piece of the newly minted couple. _Well at least I hope we’re a couple. Should really get that confirmed. But also don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Schrodinger’s beau. Yeah… nothing is going to be easy and simple ever again now is it._

But he’s just grinning, the kind of smile that’s legitimately infectious, radiating pure joy. He’s riding the same high I am, and that manages to shut up my brain. _Minor miracle that._

        Garrett barrels forward, going in for a bear hug, lifting me off the ground, and crushing my arms against my sides. _What is breathing?_ “Never doubted you for a second.”

        I manage to choke out, “Don’t worry, was covering all the doubting on my end.”

       Abby, Nick, and Leah are all fluttering around Simon, taking turns congratulating him and shooing off the competition. Leah and I exchange a knowing look that could be best summed up as if-you-break-his-heart-I-will-burn-your-crops-and-poison-any-and-all-people-you-care-about and my own suitably solemn I-know-this-and-agree-to-your-terms.  

       Somewhere in the mob of people, Simon’s hand finds mine, and we slip away into the twinkling lights. The fair grounds are our own little kingdom, and we take full advantage. The night is all bumper cars, tilt-a-whirls, ring tosses (no stuffed bear prize because Simon could hit the side of a barn, and well in my defense soccer doesn’t exactly require hand-eye coordination).

       There’s no tunnel of love, but we have that part covered, sneaking kisses in every corner, not caring if the whole world sees (because it already basically did with that Ferris wheel stunt).

       The night ends with us noshing on cotton candy on a nearby hill. We watch as the lights die off one by one as the whole place shuts down. We gaze at the stars, playing out our emails in real time.

       And then there’s the parting of the ways. A final hug to memorize the shape of him. A hungry parting kiss that promises another soon. _And I’ll hold you to it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can look forward to the next chapter to be published on Valentine's Day (because ~symbolism~)


	11. Hour to Hour, Note to Note

        “Nope, not gonna look.” There’s an envelope resting in my lap. From NYU. It’s thick, which I think is a good sign, no point on wasting precious paper and ink on an extended rejection. Or maybe the admissions office get’s a malevolent kick out of tricking the unsuspecting. _Or more likely I’ve been watching too many conspiracy thrillers and prank shows lately._

        It’s the last school I have to hear back from. _And the only response that matters._ I know I’d be able to make any school work. That I’d find my people, get the grades, find the opportunities.

        But I can just see myself there. In the City. I’d be among the throngs of people, always rushing, men and women in important looking suits chatting on Bluetooth, tourists gawking at anything and everything, the labyrinth of spires made of steel and concrete.

        And it’s not just a matter of getting in. I’ll need some kind of scholarship to be able to afford to go, even then there will be student debt to worry about. _The Millennial experience, even though technically I’m Gen Z… I think. Generations are confusing and arbitrary._

       “Well if you don’t open it, I will.” Simon leans in, hands working their way up my thigh, angling towards the envelope. _Or something else._

       “You do know it’s actually a crime to open up somebody else’s mail, right?” I’m working to keep my voice steady… and failing.

       “Abraham Louis Greenfeld, you’re going to open it now or so help me.”

       “Oh we’re doing full names now, two can play at that game Simon…” _Well maybe not._ “I-actually-forget-your-middle-name Spier.” _It’s not exactly the kind of thing that the emails would have covered._

       “No wait, stop laughing.” I’m trying to pout, but his cheer is infectious, and soon enough I’m laughing out, “Jerk.”

       I lightly tap him with the back of my hand against his chest. He dramatically keels over, hand over heart, wounded. _Certainly could compete with certain penalty-thirsty soccer players with those theatrics._ I watch as he lolls his head backward, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue in a cartoonish display of death. _The play may be over but all the world’s a stage to an actor._

      “Fine, I’m opening it.” That gets Simon springing up, ending his death pose- _was he going to stay that way all night in protest?_

       The big moment of truth.

       I carve into the envelope, nearly tearing it to shreds in my haste. I scan the letter, picking out all the relevant phrases from the professional-ese.

       I must be quiet for too long because Simon prompts, “Well?”

       “I got in.” _With enough of a scholarship that the folks can make it work, the dream isn’t dead._ I breathe out a sigh of relief that I realize is my first breath in quite a bit.

       And then out of nowhere the Fire Nation attacked- _AKA I just got full-bodied tackled and pinned to my bed._

       He’s lying there on top of me, his face wearing the relaxed confidence of a cat playing with its prey. “I would have thought you were used to getting tackled, being a football player and all.”

       “But I don’t play American… and you were joking.” _And I’m a dumbass._

       “And that’s the kind of genius that got you into NYU.” He leans in for the kiss, but still smarting from the unnecessary roughness, I turn the tables.

       I thrust upward, carefully avoiding his incoming head and topple him over. He crashes back into my mattress, cushioned by the comforter. I move on top of him, our positions a mirror image of what they were a moment ago.

       Breathless, I tease, “And I would have thought you did all your own stunts, being an actor and all.”

       “Please with this face, have to protect the moneymaker.”

       And then I lean in, our lips locking, hands intertwined. But only for a moment, they break apart and start to explore. _That one John Mayer song may be impossibly cheesy but it’s not wrong._

       The celebratory make out session lasts far too short. _Turns out when you find someone impossibly, irresistibly attractive, you can make any occasion one for sucking face._

        I almost forget it hasn’t always been like this. I can’t remember a time before Simon. Well that’s obviously not true. But the feeling is. He just fits so effortlessly into my life, I have to stop my mind from projecting it all back. Makes for a much more pleasant picture than all the angst and _sturm und drang_ that led up to it. _But I’m getting my happy beginning._

       Things won’t be going much further than this. _Yet._ It’s tough enough sneaking in these furtive make out sessions in stolen moments with school and family and friends all demanding time and energy.

        Between Nora and his parents, it’s impossible to find a quiet moment at his place. And at mine, well, my bedroom door is of course open. _Not necessarily by choice._

        It’s Mom’s one rule for when Simon’s over. She made a point to say that it would have stood regardless of Simon’s gender. _How progressive._

        I shouldn’t make fun, it’s sweet that she’s trying. I can also tell she’s still a little hurt that I took so long to come out to her. _Five years is a long time to keep a secret._

        Which reminds me, I should go share the good news.

***

        “C’mon Abby, can’t you just give me a hint?”

        She’s manning the stall selling roses and cards for Valentine’s Day. One of those annual school fundraisers for charity or so that we can have clubs(?), something like that. I’ve never paid much attention to it before. _Wasn’t exactly relevant to a closeted gay guy who never pretended to be a lady’s man._

        Thankfully she’s alone at the moment- _never doubt how much students hate being early._ We’re all sleep deprived as it is. _I owe Garrett big, maybe I should get him a rose, yellow is the color for friendship, right? Or is it something random like mauve?_

         It’s bad enough having this conversation with a friend, I don’t need an audience. _I might as well walk around with a sign saying ‘Dumbass gay here, struggling with his first relationship.’_

        “I have no clue what Simon’s planning for the two of you.” I can’t tell if she’s lying or not. If it’s something really big, he’d probably get Abby and Leah involved. Nick would be too easy to read. But if she is involved, it’s not like she’d admit it.

        “Besides wouldn’t you want it to be, you know, a surprise?” _Yes, maybe? I don’t know._

        I’m just so clueless about what to do. _Like we’ve been dating for barely a month if that._ But on the other hand, we’ve already said those three words (eight letters) to each other. And if you factor in all the email time, it’s been more like five or six months.

        And even if I had a sense of how big to go, I have no idea what would work. _Flowers or chocolate or a giant stuffed bear or all the above are just all so cliche and impersonal and ugh. Why can’t this be any easier?_

       “Look I’m new at this.” _As I’m reminded every two seconds._ But at least with Simon, it’s something we’re both figuring out, groping in the dark together. I feel like we’re a million miles behind everyone else in terms of learning how to navigate relationships and stuff. _Even then he has a slight edge, at least he’s had girlfriends._

I brought up that very point to him before. He laughed it off. _“Those don’t count, trust me. They’re all like those ‘relationships’ you have in fifth grade when holding hands is basically sex. No real feelings or consequences.”_

        “Here’s an idea,” she holds up the sample merchandise, a flash of red tightly curled petals. “Buy him a rose.” _And here comes the sales pitch._

        “Can’t say for sure, obviously, but I’m thinking he’s never gotten one before, certainly not from someone he likes. Never underestimate the importance of a first.” _The inuendoes aren’t helping._

        I place the money on the counter, drawing a blank on what I could write as a message.

        Counting the bills, she raises an eyebrow, “Only one?” _Yes, maybe? I don’t know._

        “I mean, how many are you buying Nick?”

        She chuckles, “Fair enough.” _Oh, I was serious._

        She slides the little paper note my way. “It really is the thought that counts. And if all this agonizing is any indication, Simon’s going to love whatever you come up with.”

         I scribble away, trying not to let the pressure of Simon thinking I’m good with words get to me. I eventually get it done, after three or four false starts. _Why yes, I am single handedly killing the environment through indecision._

        The struggle with the note does give me an idea. _Words and words and words._

***

        I’m passing Martin in the hall and feel my skin crawl. He’s been keeping his distance from our whole circle since the Ferris wheel. His form of penance if I had to guess. Doesn’t help that he’s become the black sheep of the school once it became clear he outed Simon. _Didn’t spread that little tidbit around, but I half wish I did._

        Except this time of the awkward go around, he doesn’t flinch away. “Can I, uh, talk to you for a second?”

        A couple weeks ago, once we both realized this was not in fact an incredibly vivid lucid dream- _although I’m not completely ruling that out-_ Simon fully debriefed me on the whole sordid blackmail saga.

        I also finally got confirmation on why Abby, Nick, and Leah had briefly blacklisted him after the news broke. I’m sworn to secrecy, no point reopening old wounds. And I’m touched that he implicitly trusts me with the true story of what is objectively the worst thing to ever happen to him. _Even if it ends with a happy ending._

        My stomach was performing a complete gymnastics floor routine the entire time.  Ticking away in the background my brain was coming up with clever ways to torture Martin. _I knew he was a slime ball, but blackmail to get the girl? What messed up romcom told him that it was a good idea? That he wouldn’t end up being the villain in his own story._

        And I get it. Why Simon went along with it. At the end of the day, it’s just selling a slightly larger piece of his soul to keep the same secret that already took its tithe. I intimately understand the absolute terror of being in the closet and not knowing who can be trusted. _Schrodinger’s unconditional love._ And he’s not responsible for Martin being an absolute asswipe and deciding to take advantage of someone’s internalized homophobia.

And I don’t even know how to start unpacking that a good part of the reason he did it all was to protect me. _And how did I thank him: abandoning him when he needed me the most._ So yeah, I can’t even begin to judge him. _We all do terrible things in the name of love._

       But I can see why they all felt violated, even if their outrage is probably tinged with some of the guilt and hurt of feeling like they couldn’t be trusted with the big secret. _Straight people do have a nasty habit of making coming out all about them._

        So yeah Leah feeling hurt, rejected, and betrayed when an unrequited crush- _not that I’d know anything about that_ \- sets her up to get her heart broken, all too human.

        Same with Abby feeling like she was whored out. Like she became friends with Martin on false pretenses, only to have it spectacularly blow up in her face in the most public way imaginable. And she had to play the bad guy breaking the heart of the earnest (if terribly and horribly misguided) guy laying his heart on the line for her.

        Even Nick had reasons to be hurt. Manipulated into thinking Abby was unobtainable and thrust together with one childhood best friend on the trusted advice of the other.

        Betrayal is a hell of a drug - _case in point my own reaction to the leaked emails. Definitely not my finest hour._ It only really seems especially cruel in hindsight. _People are a million shades of gray._

_Even Martin._

        I sigh, “Yeah, fine.” _I’m already regretting this._ I didn’t especially like Martin before all this went down and now it’s just like the turd on top. But I have a weakness for the so obviously pathetic.

        “I just wanted to apologize to you directly. I wasn’t just blackmailing Simon, you got caught up in it too. And I know it doesn’t excuse the shitty, shitty thing I did. But I regret everything I put you guys through.”

        “Shouldn’t you be saying all this to him?”

        “I already did.”

        “Oh.” I feel a bit weird he hasn’t mentioned any of that to me. Not that he owes me any explanations. I don’t need to know every little detail of his day or what he does. He’ll always been his own person and every person has their secrets. _I guess maybe I’d want him to want to share them with me._

        He’s staring expectantly. _An apology doesn’t entitle you to anything._ “Look, at the end of the day, I got to come out on my own terms. So, I can let being collateral damage slide. But I can’t forgive you on Simon’s behalf or for what you put him through.”

         He opens his mouth, as if about to argue before thinking better of it. Probably recognizing the futility of continuing the conversation, he slinks off, fading into the crowd of passing students. _If that’s the last I see of Martin it will be too soon._

***

        “Wait you want relationship advice from me?” I try to bite back the incredulous tone, but I’m kind of floored. It was one thing to dole out advice when I had absolutely zero experience and used pop culture as an approximation for what these things should be like.

        Quite another after the whole Jacques-Simon saga and doing the whole dating thing for the first time in my life, I now realize it’s always more complicated than it seems. No matter the situation. _Although usually not that complicated. I’m just special like that._

        “Well it’s not really a relationship.” Garrett’s playing with his hands, avoiding looking me in the eyes, “Yet,” he amends, declaring his intent as much for his benefit as mine.

        “Who’s the would-be lucky lady?” I silently curse at myself. _Look at they gay guy getting all heteronormative._ But I feel like if Garrett was bi or gay, I’d know. _Unless the standard issue gaydar I got in the mail is broken- a distinct possibility given I seriously entertained the idea that Martin could be Jacques._

         “Leah.” _That’s a surprise._

         I work to keep the shock from registering on my face. She just never seemed to be Garrett’s type. _Which is available- emotionally and otherwise._

         But he seems to be taking her more seriously than usual if he’s reaching out to me for help. And that kind of crush doesn’t develop overnight. So, it must only seem like it came out of nowhere. Maybe I’ve just been too wrapped up in my own drama to notice. _In which case, bad friend on my part._

         It does feel a bit too Glee for my best friend to want to get with Simon’s. _Basically incestuous._ But also, I just want him to be happy and if Leah will make him happy, I have to help. _You know if I actually can._

         “It’s just Valentine’s Day’s coming up and I think it will be my big chance to rip off the band aid and make a big gesture.”

         “We are talking about Leah, right?” _She’s more likely to chew you up and then stomp on the remains when she spits you out._ I stop myself from saying that aloud. Don’t think it will help with his nerves.

         “I know, I know.” He sighs, looking like a lovesick puppy.  _Is this how I look every time I talk about Simon?_   “But like what are the alternatives?”

         “Maybe just ask her out. In person. Be direct and honest about your feelings. Worse thing she can say is no.” _Admittedly easier said than done._

         It’s not like I’d ever have gained the courage to actually ask out Simon, even if I knew for sure he was gay, not in a million years. I would have just crushed from afar, trying to just enjoy being close to him, even if only ever as a friend.

         “Look man we can do a group hang thing if you need me there as moral support.” _The things I do for love._ “It’ll be low stakes and then you can try pulling her aside and ask her out on a date.”

         “Sound like a plan?”

***

          I’m blindfolded. “Don’t peek,” Simon says softly in my ear. _As if I would break the sacred bond of blindfold and blindfoldee._

          Although I am quite tempted, curiosity almost outweighing whatever surprise he has planned. _But patience is a virtue… allegedly._

          He’s guiding me through his house. Don’t know why the blindfold is necessary- _he’s not taking me to no secondary location._ We begin to descend into the basement, one careful, unsure step at a time- _bet he’s regretting the blindfold now, I could topple over and take use both out._

“You can take it off now.”

          Candles are lit, illuminating everything in an ambient amber glow- _okay this cliche can stay._ The little coffee table in front of the worn couch is decorated up, white table cloth and everything.

          And even better is the little meal he has set up.

          “I thought we’d put our shared love of oreos to the test.”

          There are standard issue oreos piled sky high paired with oreo milkshakes. Oreo ice cream, just on the cusp of melting and becoming soup. There’s even some fried oreos- _life’s too short for guilty pleasures but if I had one this would be it._ They look mouthwatering enough that I might finally get over the tilt-a-whirl vomit incident. My stomach rumbles ominously. _Shouldn’t think of that before a meal._

          We dig in, and I have absolutely zero regrets. _This is what all that running and soccer is for._ Slipping into a food coma, we cuddle on the sofa, just enjoying each other’s company.

          Then it’s time to exchange presents. He presents his in a little bag that’s even stuffed with tissue paper- _note to self, I need to work on my presentation skills._

          I reach in, hoping he didn’t spend too much money on me- _wouldn’t want to look cheap._

          It’s a little booklet of those fake love coupons, all lovingly handmade. **Redeemable for half of all my french fries. Redeemable for one romantic picnic at an exotic Georgian locale of your choice. Redeemable for one spring break road trip to a destination of your choice.** And on and on they go. It’s cute. Absolutely precious. _Like him._

          “You like it?” He sounds so tentative and unsure. I forget sometimes that I’m not the only one trying to figure it all out on the fly.

          “I love it.”

          The relief spreading across his features is palpable, and I lean in and kiss him because I desperately need to. We separate after a beat, both smiling.

          Now time for my gift. Something small but heartfelt. _And just a tiny bit cringe, but so am I so that’s honest._ A page covered in the neat carefully written lines of my own handwriting, not exactly calligraphy, but more personal than typeface. _Draft #19. It’s the thought that counts._

          I sit there, waiting as he reads it over, trying not to obsess over and read too much into every little shift in his expression. I think he’s liking it, but I don’t trust myself. I’ve always been better at reading books than people.

         “You wrote this?”

         “Yep figured what the hell iambic pentameter was and everything.” _And I suddenly have a greater appreciation for Shakespeare because god this was hard._

         “That’s incredible Bram.” And relief then washes over me, radiating out a warm feeling from my heart to my extremities.

          Everything’s golden. His hair. My smile. Our hearts.

 

_A Sonnet for Jacques_

 

_When I do count the hours that we here share_

_The time adds up to naught against my hope_

_That we have world enough for love so fair._

_Tis but a lengthy way to say you’re dope._

 

_Air fresh of breath you give me like spring breeze._

_Your very touch lights up my world, live wire._

_And yet you lay me down, crafting my ease._

_Come o’er and stay, my one and true desire._

 

_A high, no crash, you are everything I crave,_

_Sharing it all with you, there is nothing above._

_Heart pounding, blood rushing, let me be brave_

_When I do declare to the boy I love._

 

_The emotions herein inscribed are true_

_Testimony of all my heart, signed Blue_


	12. What I Need is a Teenage Dream

       “When you cashed in that coupon, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”  _ Same Simon, same. _

It’s the first truly gorgeous day of spring. The sun’s out and exudes, above all things, warmth, with none of the harsh winter brightness. The clear skies are a friendlier blue, wisps of clouds lazily gliding by.

        There’s a whisper of a breeze, so the air isn’t still and oppressive. Things are alive and green again, in varying states of budding. I even spot a few bumbling bees buzzing about the meadow, to and fro.  _ Always nice to see they haven’t been wiped out yet. _

        It has all the trappings of the perfect romantic picnic. Except for the fact that we’re sharing it, with people-  _ no worse, friends. _ If my math is right-  _ always an open question _ \- it’s a triple date, more or less.  _ Well a triple date disguised as a group hang.  _

        Garrett wanted to take advantage of the fine weather and thought it was a good time to finally make a move with Leah. They have been getting appreciatively closer the past few weeks-  _ from a low, oh so low base. _

        But for back up and to lower the stakes he wanted me involved.  _ At least at the start.  _ And there was no way I’d do it without Si. And to make it less weird and suspicious we had to invite Nick and Abby.

        As for having to cash in the Valentine’s Day coupon, well, Simon doesn’t exactly approve of my meddling. I can’t blame him, he already got third degree burns the last time he interfered in his friends’ romantic lives. But this isn’t like that.  _ No blackmail involved for starters. _

        And I’m just the moral support. And Garrett knows when to take a hint-  _ or you know just listen to what a girl says.  _ So it’s not setting her up to get her heart broken, at least no more than any relationship carries that risk.

Leah and Abby are up the hill laying out some blankets underneath a couple of big twisting trees- _the perfect amount of shade._ Meanwhile Garrett and Nick are unloading the unhealthy goodies that we all brought – _who needs a fancy cheese platter when there are Cheetos to down._

       He’s pouting, and I’m oh so weak.  _ As I am with everything when it comes to Simon.  _

       “How bout this, we do our own separate picnic another day. I’ll take care of everything. You won’t even have to worry.”

       Simon grins and I know I’m in the clear.

       “I’ll hold you to it.”  _ I’m counting on it. _

       Despite not being in on the plan in any capacity, Nick and Abby play their part with aplomb.  _ The sickly in love couple.  _ I get there’s an element of making up for lost time-  _ not that I’d know anything about that. But also… _

       They eventually find a totally-subtle-and-not-at-all-obvious excuse to sneak off and make out-  _ which yes, gross _ \- but also very much according to plan.  _ And bonus we avoid the PDA of it all. _

       Their absence however does throw off the equilibrium of the group, at least at first. It’s like one of those cartoon miniature storm clouds is hanging over Leah, who is somehow both surly and sullen at once.

        She recovers soon enough, Garrett playing the clown until even she grudgingly has to laugh. And once her moodiness dissipates, we’re off to the races again.

         I nudge Simon-  _ time to take our cue.  _ He gives me a pleading look, but Garrett and Leah are deep in conversation debating the relative merits of the latest Assassin’s Creed game.  _ I haven’t heard this many mentions of The Odyssey since freshman English. _

        “We’ll be back in a sec.”  _ Or you know, bit longer than that.  _ Leah waves us off, not missing a beat. Garrett sneaks me a look, eyes bright.  _ Fingers crossed. _

        And so, we take our leave, ambling around in nature. The bright blue sky contrasting with the gray of his eyes. It takes a lot of effort not to pull a Nick and Abby and just shamelessly make out in public. I can see it in my mind’s eye, pinning him up against one of those tall oaks.  _ Or have him pin me, it’s an equal opportunity fantasy.  _

        I take a moment to realize how incredibly comfortable I’ve gotten with the whole gay thing. Almost overnight-  _ well six plus years in the making.  _ To think a few months ago I couldn’t even say it to my reflection in the mirror. And now I’m thinking about making out with my fricking non-imaginary boyfriend in public.  _ Incredible.  _

        The chatter fades as we walk on, and I can feel the gears turning in his head, “What’s wrong?”

        “This is just a lot of effort to meddle in other people’s love lives is all.”

        “Oh, don’t go all cynical on me now, Mr. Everyone-Deserves-A-Great-Love-Story.”

        He has the decency to go red at the reminder of that particular quote, “Yes, but it’s up to them to find theirs.”  _ I don’t disagree. I’m just nudging. It’s a difference of philosophy, I guess. _

        “Guess is one of those things we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

        I can see he’s not happy with that response, but I think he can live with it.

As we gather to leave, I volunteer Garrett and me to finish cleaning up, so we’ll have some time to chat alone. Si and Nick race down to the car. _Boys._ Not gonna lie, I do enjoy the view.

        Abby and Leah stroll behind them, arm in arm. And Leah looks suspiciously giddy, a certain skip in her step. I swear I even saw her smile as she left.  _ A good sign, I think. _

        Less reassuring is Garrett’s poker face, which I’m not sure if he’s putting on to troll me or because it all blew up in his face.  _ More like a 50/50 kind of proposition.  _ A look from me is all it takes to prompt him to answer the burning unanswered question.

        “She shot me down.”  _ Ouch.  _ “Said how we would make better friends. And there was something about liking somebody else. She didn’t tell me who, not that it’s any of my business.” A hollow chuckle fills the quiet and curdles in the suddenly still air.

_         Maybe she’s not over Simon. I know she’s been really cool about it. But if I know nothing else, crushes die hard. And she liked him for years and years and years, nearly blew up their friendship. _

        “I’m sorry, dude. I know you really liked her.”

        He shakes off my pro-offered hug. “Nah man, it’s cool.”

        I know it’s not. But it’s not my place to press him, if he wants to wear the brave face, so be it. He’ll talk to me when he’s ready. “Cool, dude.”

        We catch up with the others. I interlock my hand with Simon’s. Grateful for him being absolutely incredible. And just existing frankly.

***

“So who asks out who, you know, for prom?” _Hell if I know._

I answer Garrett with a shrug. There’s no protocol. No handy rulebook laying exactly what to do. No gay relationship manual that came as a courtesy gift with the gay card.  

        This is part where people would say to trust my gut. But lord knows my gut is absolutely useless.  _ Worse than useless, I’m more likely to get a stomach cramp agonizing over what it’s saying than anything useful out of it. _

People have been posting cute promposal pics and vids for weeks now. It’s all so painfully straight. The guy asking the girl out ninety percent of the time because outdated gender norms that are still kicking- _the real zombie horror movie_.

        There’s still something appealing about the romance of it, that swept off your feet kind of feeling. But it’s soured by the hetero of it all-  _ how did I manage dealing with the Straights™ for eighteen years? _

        “I do have an idea though.” I’ve been working away at it in the back of mind since he knocked Valentine’s Day out of the park.  _ Gross a sport’s metaphor, there goes my gay card. _

But still he’s been so perfect and lovely. And it feels like every big opportunity to show feelings has been on him. He took that first stab in the dark to email me based on that anonymous creeksecrets post. He said he loves me first- _admittedly in a sleep deprived state._ Even after I pushed him away during his loneliest hour, he still carried on and did that big romantic gesture with that very public post and waiting on the Ferris wheel, which was humiliation waiting to happen- _all the more daring for not even knowing about my little note_.

        So yeah I think it’s time I stepped up to the plate. I’m just worried it’s not big enough. All those social media posts (and Simon) setting a ridiculously high bar that I’m not sure I can reach.

“I’m thinking I’ll bake a giant homemade oreo cookie and write out ‘prom question mark’ on the top in icing. And to keep the surprise element I’d probably hide it in a pizza box or something like that.”

“What do you think?”

“Go for it, dude.”

Everything inside settles down. It’s good to have a plan.

        I suddenly realize this conversation has been very me-focused, so I change tack.

        Ever since the failed picnic, we haven’t really talked about girl stuff or what happened. I’ll give him credit, he’s been very graceful in his rejection, our lunch table is no more awkward than the usual background radiation level.

        “You thinking of asking out anyone?” I see his shoulders tense, the ripple of panic beneath still water, so I clarify, “For prom?”

He lights up, in that particular too animated way reserved for when you’re crushing on someone. _Or at least the idea of them._ “Yeah actually. I’m thinking of asking Morgan.” He adds, just a little too quickly, “Just as a friend.”

“Oh yeah, sure, totally.” He goes scarlet, which could just mean he’s embarrassed that I’m implying something that’s not a thing, but also… _you never know. Someone could have another crush._

“Fuck off.” He affectionately punches my shoulder, which confirms I’m definitely on the right track.

         I mean it is better to move on than keep wallowing in unrequited feelings. _ Not that I’d ever take that advice personally.  _ I’m just lucky enough that the two biggest crushes of my life turned out to be the same guy. _ And he happened to like me back. Absurd. Something mythical and legendary. A fricking unicorn.   _

***

**Meet me at the main entrance**

**Now Greenfeld!**

Before I can even ask, Garrett beats me to the punch and texts a couple more.

**(and no you can’t ask any questions)**

**you’ll thank me later ;)**

I don’t know what to make of it. There’s a non-zero chance that he’s trolling me. Some prank, although usually he tries to be a bit more subtle. _Not much chance of surprising me now, no point. Unless that’s what he wants me to think._

         My mind keeps playing fourth dimensional chess as I exit through the main doors. There are the usual clumps of students lingering around for rides or killing time before the homework grind starts in earnest.

         And then out of absolutely nowhere, Whitney Houston starts blasting from a couple speakers.  _ I Wanna Dance With Somebody.  _ The track launches a swirl of activity. The seemingly disparate groups start converging, dancing in time with the beat.  _ Flash mob. _

_         This isn’t… no can’t be. He wouldn’t… _

         As best I can tell, everyone from the drama club is involved-  _ including Taylor and Cal, this isn’t awkward at all.  _ I’m pretty sure Taylor notices me noticing her and winks right at me.  _ Yeah I’m still not mature enough to deal with all that. _

          In the corner of my eye I can see Nick and Leah, phones out, recording.  _ The dumb look on my face preserved for posterity… nice.  _ No Garrett to be seen-  _ I’ll get you back for this Laughlin. _

          But soon my full attention gets captured by Simon, taking center stage.  _ Being the leading man suits him, if only for one performance. Also, who knew he could dance? _

          Well kind of, the enthusiasm and commitment are there and-  _ what the hell am I doing, there’s no critiquing this.  _ It’s all so cute. Absolutely perfect.  _ How dare he be the absolute best. _

         The track fades out, and he comes up to me, visibly panting, trickles of sweat running down his face from the exertion or nerves- _or probably both_ \- I can’t tell. “So, what do you think? Prom?”

         I physically can’t stop smiling.  _ As if I’d ever want to.  _ “A million times yes.”

There’s a cheer from his troupe as well as a few applauding bystanders who stayed to watch the show once it kick-offed. We’re rushed by Abby, Nick, and Leah all squealing in excitement. _I didn’t know that any of them were capable of that sound tbh._

       My phone vibrates and I see yet another text.

**The package is awaiting delivery.**

I’d respond, but I’ll get my answers from Garrett in person. _He’s got some explaining to do._

   I put my arm around Si. “Celebrate at yours?”

“Let’s!” He reciprocates as we walk to his car.

        When we arrive at his place, Garrett’s parked outside, and I’m almost certain there’s a special delivery pizza box sitting carefully in the passenger seat. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.  _ Just according to plan. _

        I say to Simon, “Hey go in ahead of me, I’ll only be a sec.”

        He raises an eyebrow, but ultimately just shrugs his shoulders and walks inside.

        I go over to the driver side window, which Garrett rolls down.

        Leaning in, I say, “Et tu, Brute?”

        “I don’t speak nerd.” The sly grin on his face says otherwise.

        “He got you involved, so you knew when it would be going down. And you didn’t subtly hint that I should maybe speed up the plan a bit. Traitor.”

        “It is the Ides of March, maybe you should have seen it coming.”  _ Damn, he right. _

        “Not the point.”

        “Come on dude, you can still have your moment.” He passes me the box. “It’s not like the answer was ever in doubt.”  _ I mean he is right. Is this becoming a habit of his?  _ “And the gesture will still mean something.”

        “Okay, yeah cool.”  _ Cool, cool, cool cool, cool. _

        I looking back a moment to see Garrett give me an encouraging thumbs up. I go up to the door and ring the bell… and Nora answers.  _ Way to ruin a moment kid-sister.  _ I think as if she isn’t just a freshman.  _ Or maybe a sophomore? Same difference, they’re all underclassmen. _

        She barely glances up from her phone as she says, “We didn’t order any… wait, Bram?”

       Knowing why’d I’d be there, she calls Simon’s name.  _ How did he disappear into the house so fast? _

       “Uh, so how’s the band going?”  _ Emoji, for a high school band that name could have been worse.  _ Among the members, the holy randomness factor of our lunch table is somehow amped up. The core of Leah, Anna, and Morgan at least makes sense. But adding Simon’s sister and Taylor Metternich of all people into the mix was well… _ interesting _ .

        “Good, we’re trying to get Mr. Worth to let us perform a song at prom.”  _ How will that work given four out of the five will (presumably) be all glammed up? _

        “Oh, cool. Good luck.”

        I can see her itching to get back on her phone, but not wanting to be rude.  _ God this is painfully awkward, I’ve never spent any length of time with her alone.  _ The few moments we were close to being alone together, there was always Bieber as a buffer and conversation starter-  _ because dogs and their cuteness/antics. _

        Thankfully Simon arrives, and with a wave, Nora fades back into the house.

        “So, what mysterious thing did you need to talk to Garrett… wait pizza? For me?!”  _ Well… _

        “Something like that.”  _ Just as delicious and as bad if not worse for you.  _ “It’s kind of a moot point given what just happened. But I’m not one to let good food go to waste.”

        I open the box, showing off my handiwork. It’s my third attempt. The first came out hard as rocks, and well I’ll be taking the secret of the disaster of the second to the grave.  _ And as far as Si knows, this is my first go around. _

        All I see is a shit-eating grin, “A million times yes.”  _ You’re lucky you’re impossibly cute. _

        We kiss, slow and soft, and when we part, he groans, “Aw, but this means I stepped on your toes with mine. We really need to work on our coordination.”  _ I have some ideas on how. _

        “Please, I would have felt bad if all that hard of work of yours had gone to waste, that whole routine must have taken weeks.”

        He teases, “Something like that.”

***

So in the past couple weeks the reality of getting into NYU has really sunk in. And now that I don’t have to worry about getting into my college of choice, well there’s a million other things to worry about. _Like making friends for the first time since elementary school. Or if the food will be any good. Or if I’ll get hopelessly lost. Or flunk._

But the biggest question, the one I can’t shake, is… _what about Simon?_ And so I asked him over to my place to talk it out. I’m now regretting that decision. Because well, I have made putting off difficult topics into an art form.

        But he’s smart and can see something is up, so finally I speak up, “I’ve been putting off this conversation. Just because I didn’t want to freak you out.”  I’m playing with my hands, trying to concentrate the nerves in one body part as if to exorcise them. Simon’s entire attention is directed my way, which doesn’t help the nerves.  _ One thing to practice it in my head, another _

       “And I’m trying this new thing where I live in the moment and worry less.”  _ Has that been working out for me… questionable.  _ There’s always something else to worry about, no matter the situation.  _ Including whether I’m worrying the right amount, nothing is worse than the counterproductive spiral of worrying about whether I’m worrying too much. _

       “It’s just I can feel the future rushing forward. You know prom, then graduation, the summer, and then…”  _ Who the hell knows. That’s the scary part. _

       “Well we’re going to college. Separate ones.” I’m rambling now. I know I’m rambling, but I can’t stop the words spewing out at a rapid clip. Pure undiluted word vomit.  _ Always an attractive image. _

       “And I know you haven’t decided where you’re going yet. And I’m going to NYU. And we got together too late to coordinate this kind of thing. Not that we should be making such big life decisions based on a relationship. But what I’m trying to say is…”

Simon laughs. He honest to god laughs. Not mean spiritedly, of course. But still, not quite the reaction I was expecting. “Like no I get it. You’re thinking a million steps ahead. And planning because the future is big and scary and impossible.” _Am I sure he’s not a mind reader?_

       “And I don’t want you to think I don’t care.”  _ As if I could ever doubt that.  _ “About the future that is. Because I do. Like a lot.”  _ Although this sounds exactly like something prefaced with a but. _

       “But,”  _ There it is.  _ “I know we’ll be fine. No matter how it all shakes out. We’re the idiots who fell in love with each over emails.”  _ This is a truth universally acknowledged.  _ “And did you know they’ve since invented this handy little thing called FaceTime?”

        He’s right of course. But it’s good to hear the words said aloud and acknowledge the truth of them outside my own head where they can be mistaken for wishful thinking.

        “Yeah you’re right.”

        “I usually am.”

        I curl up against him, just enjoying the proximity, the tactile touch, the realness while I can.

 


	13. Run Away With Me

       “You’ll be smart, right?”  _ Last time I checked I’m a dumbass gay so no promises.  _ Somehow, I doubt Mom would see the humor in that joke.  _ Straight people smh. _

       “And I want constant updates. And if anything, and I mean anything, goes wrong or you need help, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll drive up anywhere, and do anything I can.”

She means well, but it’s just the way she’s talking, you’d think I was about to go on an epic YA style world saving quest, not a spring break road trip to NYC.

       “Mom, it’s just a week. And there’s going to be six of us. That means six phones and six sets of worried overprotective parents, what could go wrong?”  _ Tempting fate there and definitely not helping my case, but also it needs to be said.         _

She’s hardly convinced by my totally airtight logic. _I wonder why._ But hey she’s actually willing to let me go, so there’s that. _It was a bit touch and go for a while there._

        The idea is for this trip to be a last hurrah, of sorts. Obviously, there’s an expectation we’ll all be friends forever. But hey we’ll be going our separate ways after this summer, it’s only right to take advantage of every opportunity while we still have them.  

We debated the where for quite a bit. Nick wanted to hit up DC. _Because of Abby, I’m sure, see where she grew up._ Abby herself thought New Orleans would be a treat. The food, the music, the atmosphere. Garrett was a bit more traditional, wanting to cruise around Miami, getting rays on the beach.

New York was Simon’s idea. I think he’s trying to prove that it’s not that far. We did take a vote because democracy. First ballot I, of course, went with Simon, while Leah, who had been suspiciously quiet for the entire process (not even one snide remark!), plumped for New Orleans. We peeled off Nick’s vote with a promise that DC will be a stop along the way.

Through our superior reasoning, (and some light bribery- Garrett’s getting his beach vacay this summer, Leah’s seeing the Museum of Sex, dragging us all along for the ride- _I’m going to die-_ , and Abby’s eating at a Cajun restaurant because New York has everything) we got everyone on board for NYC.

        If I have one worry about the whole thing, well, it’s going to be a repeat of the picnic crew. Garrett swears up and down to me that it won’t be awkward. Simon says Leah is claiming the same thing.  _ Guess we’ll just have to see. It’s one thing to act chill at a crowded lunch table, another in a cramped car for hours on end. _

        A horn announces their arrival, Si driving his mom’s minivan-  _ because nothing says wild road trip than the vehicle of choice for soccer moms. _

Mom pulls me in for one last hug. I can feel her take in one last smell of me. _If she’s like this now, how will she handle me going off to college?_

“Bye, see you soon.” I duck out and wave her off. Adding my packed bag to the pile in the trunk, I take shotgun. _Being the driver’s boyfriend has its privileges._

         A few quick turns through leafy neighborhoods, and we leave Shady Creek behind for the highway. Now it’s just us and the open road. We all chipped in to create a road trip playlist, so it’s eclectic to say the least. It kicks off with Africa by Toto. _ For the memes.  _ We’re all belting away, a tone-deaf choir.  _ “It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.” _

Our one real oversight is not bringing any snacks. _Four teenage boys and none of us thought about food. Sounds fake._ And so, at first rest stop, McDonalds. _The good life choices start here and now._

 Si volunteers to do the legwork and order. To double down on the healthy choices, we’re all getting fries. _McDonalds fries should be a controlled substance tbh._

         He comes back toting a big brown bag filled to the brim with goodies. And we get to work, chowing down. Only digging into the bag, I notice something odd. I pour out the unexpected bounty onto the table.

         “Uh Simon, exactly how many sauces did you get?”

          He gives me a quizzical look, as if not understanding the absurdity of the sea of sauces I loosed upon the counter. “Sixteen.”

         “Sixteen sauces? You do know there are just six of us, right?”

         He’s scarlet now-  _ aw bless.  _ “What? It just was one of those touchscreen kiosk things, and you could tell it how many sauces you need. And I figured one per person, but then I had doubts if that would be enough, so I thought better safe than sorry…”        

“But sixteen!?” Garrett joins in the incredulity game now. Abby and Leah are guffawing away, nearly choking on their fries. Refueled- _mind you it’s mid-morning, second breakfast, the Hobbits would approve-_ we get back on the road. 

Given Simon is clearly no longer in a right state of mind- _Sixteen sauces!_ -Nick takes a turn behind the wheel. Si ends up nodding off, leaning against my shoulder. _Not mad about that._ Predictably he’s cute when he’s asleep. _As if there was any doubt._

First proper stop is Asheville. We get there in the early afternoon, blazing sun shining above in a cloudless sky. _Three hours driving and we’re barely out of Georgia._

        And the touristy event of the day is the Biltmore Estate. An absolutely massive and somewhat absurd boondoggle.  _ I didn’t think they made houses this big unless it was for kings and queens and dukes and nobles, those sorts of people.  _ It’s certainly impressive, for sheer size and the decadence of it all if nothing else.  _ And pretty too, certainly doesn’t need any filters, all very Insta ready. _

        The surrounding gardens are gorgeous. A riot of sculpted colors, crimsons and marigolds and bright yellows interspaced in endless waves of well-manicured green. Garrett is a sniffling mess taken down by hay fever.

        And we shamelessly commit to a basic hoe photo shoot, taking turns being each other’s personal photographers-  _ what else are friends for? _ \- and roping in the occasional confused tourist for some group shots.

As we wind our way through the interior, Simon asks, “Who would want a house this big? Like if you’re that rich, I feel like there’s better things to spend it on.” _And this was just the Vanderbilts’ summer home._

“Probably.”

***

Another four hours cutting across North Carolina and Virginia, all rolling green fields or an endless screen of trees that gets just incredibly samey after a while. _The novelty of seeing farm animals wears off real quick, they don’t even break up the monotony anymore._

No luck on the in-car entertainment front. Garrett conks out the moment we get in the car- _allergy meds, the secret cure for insomnia._ I can see in the rear view, Nick and Abby passed out, leaning against each other. _Just couples’ things._

Simon tries to stay up for my sake, but he’s clearly catching up on all the sleep he should be getting if not for school. Ditto for Leah, who’s probably had one too many late nights reading fanfic.

I manage to drive the whole time, but my nerves are fried after so much highway driving and time confined to the car. _I think this is a record for how long I’ve ever been behind a wheel._ I know I could’ve taken a break anytime, but I didn’t want to wake anyone up.

         It’s an absolute relief when we take the exit for Roanoke and pull into the hotel parking lot. Two rooms for the night, subsidized courtesy of my mom’s credit card. It’s a one-off treat that she says counts as most of my graduation present. But also, I know it’s as much for her peace of mind as our comfort.  _ No seedy roadside motels to panic about. _

Once we get up to the rooms, I collapse onto the bed, limbs spread out starfish style. _I’ll just rest my eyes. For a second._

I probably would’ve passed out right here and now, but Si dive bombs next to me, shaking the whole thing. _Let’s please not break it, would hate to explain that extra charge to Mom._

And I suddenly realize it’ll be the first time we’ll be sharing a bed overnight. Things are all very charged and nerve wracking despite the fact nothing’s going to happen. _Not with Garrett and Nick in the room._ But the potential and possibility is there. _In my dreams._

Because they’re straight and dumb, Garrett and Nick refuse to actually sleep in the same bed. I even suggest constructing a pillow wall in between them if they’re so insecure about maybe- _gasp_ \- accidentally touching. _So sexually charged guys._

But no good. They make some kind of deal to take turns at every place we stop. So right now, Nick will have the bed, and Garrett is creating a makeshift one with the armchair and a couple ottomans. _Whatever works._

The girls have their own room right next door. There’s even one of those hotel side doors connecting us together. _Which I’m sure would be very tempting for Nick except for the fact that Leah would kill him. Zero hesitation._

No one else is really tired yet, given they all napped in the car, so we stay up chatting, the girls joining us from next door.

        There’s a lull, the day of adventure and travel catching up with people.  _ Welcome to the club.  _ I’m figuring the girls are going to slink back to their room to pass out any minute. I close my eyes in anticipation, ready to sleep.

        Leah fills the silence, “I’m bi.”  My eyes shoot open.  _ That’s one wake-up call. _

        Even Simon seems taken aback, his eyes widening, his brows leaping, his mouth careening down. It all adds to my own surprise. If Leah would have told anyone of our group, I figure Simon would definitely be the first.  _ Her platonic other half. _

        Abby chimes in, “Oh cool, I am too.” And that really throws me for a loop. Nick and Garrett are suddenly the last straights standing… _unless… no absurd._ _But also damn it’s true, queers really do travel in herds, I thought that was just an internet myth._

At Abby’s casual little reveal, Leah’s whole face flushes crimson, and I think I know who she’s been crushing on. _First Simon, now Abby, she does have impeccable taste, I’ll give her that._

I can’t help but give a sideways glance at Garrett and Nick, in case they had any self-realizations to share with the group.

Nick must notice, or maybe the others are doing the same-  _ it is the obvious train of thought.  _ “Don’t look at me, I’m straight as an arrow.”

Garrett joke punches him, a smile on his face, “Homophobe.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” Pure panic as he tried to explain away his comment, not yet realizing we’re all messing with him. _He certainly has a gift for putting his foot in his mouth. Not that I should be talking._

“Was setting the record straight, we noticed.” I finish for him, barely keeping a straight face, tossing him a conversational lifeline. Abby and Simon break out in giggles.

Leah’s whole demeanor shifts ever so slightly as we resume chatting. Her spine standing up straighter- _how ironic-_ her smiles wider, and her arms uncrossed, no longer sheltering her chest. _Amazing how good it feels to come out._

***

        I look up at the Washington Monument, a two-tone white spire stabbing at the sky.  _ Not phallic at all then.  _ And Garrett just leans into it, laying on a concrete ledge, positioning himself with the monument’s base jutting from his pelvis. Nick takes the photo immortalizing this special moment forever.  _ Just in case there was any doubt exactly how straight they are. _

A tour guide nearby that we’re leaching off of explains to his charges that construction was halted because of lack of funds and the Civil War, and they used a different quarry for the marble. _Neat-o._

       The rest of the Mall is pretty if crowded with seas of fellow tourists. There are hordes of school children shepherded by harried teachers and chaperones, families replicating the chaos on a smaller scale, foreign tourists in packs, phones and cameras at the ready, always flashing.

       We make a point of finding the Georgia pillar at the World War II Monument-  _ photo op moment _ \- but otherwise move on quickly to the Lincoln Memorial.  _ Lots of steps to this one. _

       The view from the top of the steps is incredible, the whole Mall stretching out, all green and white meeting the blue sky. The Reflecting Pool lives up to its name, a mirrored Washington Monument stretching across its’ length.

        I think back to those photos in my history textbook of the March on Washington, that sea of bodies energized and protesting, Martin Luther King Jr. giving that iconic speech. It’s powerful to be standing where he did, the very spot commemorated with an inscription.

        The inside is nice enough, I guess. Weird to have a statue of Lincoln more or less on a throne.  _ Last time I checked we don’t have kings.  _ The inscriptions of the Gettysburg Address and one of his inaugural speeches are a nice touch.

Abby looks like she’s back in her element, guiding us through the Metro- _no looking like hopelessly lost and out of our depth tourists for us_ -, giving out this or that tidbits that she’s picked up over the years. 

Besides the Mall and few of the Smithsonians- _did not realize how many of these things there were-_ we also make a point of walking along the Tidal Basin. The cherry blossoms are in bloom, vibrant and pink. The wind is scattering budding pedals to and fro.

I try to snatch some out of the air but turns out I don’t have the coordination for that- _who knew._ And for my troubles, all I get is a couple stray pedals flying straight into my mouth. _Imagine if I choked on them, a terrible but also kind of a funny way to go._

The others decide to race to the Jefferson Memorial because they’re actually five years old, so I end up walking alone with Abby. “Do you miss it? DC, I mean.”

She laughs, “Of course.” _Yeah, I know. Stupid question._

“Don’t get me wrong, I love all you guys and literally can’t imagine my life without any of you. But it was rough starting from scratch so near the finish line.” _This coming from the social butterfly-in-chief._

“And now you’re about to do it all over again.” _Well we all will be. And at least you have plenty of practice, I haven’t had to make new friends on my own since elementary school._

“Yeah.” Her face goes all pensive for a moment. “But really, it’s all about missing the people, not the place. Like who could really miss the Metro or all the political whack-jobs or the tourists.” _Or boring old Shady Creek._

“I hear you. At least it’ll be easy to stay in touch. The powers of modern technology.” _I hope._

“You’re right.” _Then why don’t you sound convinced?_ I can’t help but  notice that Abby hasn’t made any real effort to reach out to anyone while we’re here. 

         Abby turns on the charm and pep, clearly done with this conversation. “C’mon Bram, we have a monument to an old rapist racist to visit.”

***

_Traffic’s a bitch._ Since leaving DC, every time we start moving, we hit a major metro area or pass this or that traffic accident- _the slow down made all the worse by the rubbernecking._ We do it all the same thing once it’s our turn to drive by on the logic if we have to sit in a highway turned parking lot, we should at least see the why for ourselves. 

_          And the tolls too, not a fan.  _ I’m kind of mystified that there’s really no way of avoiding them. At least ways that wouldn’t add significantly more time to the point where its just stupid.

         Lots of turnover for the driver’s seat just because it’s so exhausting and never ending. It’s a relief when we cross the bridge out of Delaware, leaving us with one last state to plow through.

_Dirty Jersey._ Lots of green for that nickname. Although an hour later, I’m starting to grasp the concept. _You don’t expect the smell, leaching in through the car. All very industrial and just a bit trashy._

        Six hours later in total, we make it.  _ Finally.  _ Abby queues up Empire State of Mind for the symbolism because nothing can be too on the nose.  _ “Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there’s nothing you can’t do, now you’re in New York.” _

        That familiar skyline comes into view. _ Now this is a city.  _ All skyscrapers and statues. Crowds and traffic. Everything in a constant swirl of motion and sound.

It’s not my first time visiting, of course. Saw quite a bit while doing the grand old college tour junior year (nineteen schools in all because my mom went just a tad bit overboard with her first and only son- _I’d say never again, but it’s a tad late for that_ ).

       First stop is the Met. We’re out-of-towners so we have to cough up admissions money-  _ I could have sworn it used to be free. Well technically pay-what-you-want but same difference. _

       We just get lost in it. Simon and I definitely get a kick out of the Greco-Roman statuary-  _ they had excellent taste in men.  _ I’m sure it helps when oh so many were gay.  _ Although they did bottom-shame so win some, lose some. _

       Especially cool is a bust of Antinous, a squared jaw Hercules-type with curls on curls. Like a million of these things are floating around because the Emperor Hadrian loved this dude-  _ gay _ \- and he tragically died young. So Hadrian in his grief did the rational thing and started a cult.  

       Simon says, “So completely hypothetical.”  _ I already don’t like where this is going, spidey senses tingling.  _ “If I died in a tragic accident,”  _ Boy why are you tempting fate?  _ “Would you start a cult in my memory?”

       I palm my forehead. “Cause that’s clearly the most romantic option.” We pass a vase depicting parts of the Trojan War. “Or you know I could full Achilles and go on a murder spree in vengeance. Maybe take out a river god.”

       “Really babe? All for me. Aw you shouldn’t.” And just because he apparently quite tell if I’m being serious or not-  _ the hazards of perpetual sarcasm _ \- he adds,“Like really, don’t.”  _ As if. Ye of so little faith. _

       I stick out my tongue, “No promises.”

       We all decide to take turns so everyone will get a chance to see what they want.

       Abby’s all over the Impressionists.  _ I mean everyone loves the Impressionists.  _ While admiring all the pretty scenery and portraits, I learn that Manet and Monet are in fact different people. And that Van Gogh’s Starry Night is in the MoMA.  _ Also, what kind of mad man would have the patience for that pointillism stuff? _

       Garrett leads the way to the Asian wing, hoping for some samurai blades.  _ Wrong museum for that my dude.  _ We do see a cool deer sculpture made of glass spheres though. I call that a win.

       Nick goes for the Egyptian area.  _ Who didn’t have an Ancient Egypt phase as a kid?  _ They have an actual freaking Egyptian temple. Not a reconstruction. A two-thousand-something year old original given to the US as a gift from Egypt back in the 60s.  _ How many of these things do they just have lying around?  _ Sphinxes, sarcophagi, hieroglyphics galore.  _ Oh my! _

       Leah wants to make fun of the medieval art, so we end up seeing a lot of Jesus for a group that’s majority Jewish.  _ Imagine the potential drinking game, a shot for every Madonna and child. You’d die. But it would be an original way to go. _

       By the time it’s Simon’s turn, he suggests we leave. Which yeah fair, we’re all exhausted and the thing is massive. Even rushing around there’s no way we’d see everything. Also, there’s only so long before you go stir crazy or just want to collapse and end up joining the collection.  _ That one sarcophagus sure did look comfy. _

***

        The Museum of Sex. I'm lowkey dreading it.  _ We did promise.  _ They check for ID at the entrance because duh. It feels very adult to actually have my ID checked.

        The gift shop is more or less a sex shop. S&M by Rihanna is playing in my head as we browse.  _ “Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me.” _

        So yeah plenty of toys and other kinky looking things that I pretend to not understand because thinking through the implications would be beyond embarrassing.  _ This country was really screwed over by being founded by a bunch of prudish Puritans. _

        But there’s also just raunchy novelty versions of usual gift shop fair like socks, shirts, books, and the like. I head into the museum without spending a dime, but can’t say that’s true of everyone.

        Garrett swipes some condoms with clever puns like a Darth Vader saying  **I will not be your father** or a cartoon Nessie asking if you  **want to see the monster?** . Some take the PSA route instructing to  **cover your stump before you hump** or  **if you’re not going to sack it, go home and whack it** .  _ All very good advice. _

        “You have any plans later that you care to share?”

        “It’s always good to be prepared, Greenfeld.” He winks at me, and I’m ready to throttle him.  _ Cheeky bastard. _

        The exhibits themselves are cool if incredibly explicit.  _ It’s almost like that’s the whole point.  _ There’s even a whole section on sex in the animal kingdom that I’m assuming was curated by a furry.  _ I’ll never forgive Leah (by way of a cackling Simon) for sharing that cursed knowledge with me. _

        The whole time I’m walking around vaguely shell-shocked, cheeks flushed.  _ I just can’t right now.  _ Everyone else is getting a kick out of needling my embarrassment.  _ Leah, I hope you’re appreciating what will be your birthday present. _

***

Break’s nearly over, so we’re determined to make it home in one really impossibly long day of travel. _Do I have homework waiting for me that my mom doesn’t know about? Absolutely._

        This go around we’re taking the more scenic Appalachian route. When I say we get up at the crack at dawn, I mean that literally.  _ Yeah not looking forward to when this becomes the same old normal average day again. _

        The views are nice, the winding highways with fragile looking railing the only barrier between us and plummeting thousands of feet, less so.  _ Now would be a great time to have a less overactive imagination. _

        There’s one last stop. _Chimney Rock._ Not quite planned, but I can tell everyone’s stir crazy after the long ride, even with the breaks for lunch and dinner. The sun’s beginning to set, blue fading out into orange, a whitish arc cutting across the sky where the colors meet.

“C’mon guys the view will be incredible.” I know Garrett’s on my side. He’s always down for anything. And the light peer pressure does the trick with everyone else.

        Leah shoots me a murderous look. But she’s outvoted. Rather than protest by boycotting and sulking in the car, she decides she’ll have more fun grumbling along with the rest of us.  _ True friendship that. _

From the base we can see a waterfall, careening down the side. We all hike up to the top. _Well more like step up to the really impossibly long staircase._ The sheer length and incline stretch it out, creating the illusion that it’s that staircase to heaven that band my dad likes is always yammering on about. _And_ _I thought the Lincoln Memorial had a lot of steps._

The top of the rock, smoothed out with the exception of some boulders which I assume were artfully placed there on purpose for the aesthetic, is fenced off for obvious reasons. _Yeah let’s not fall off and die._

There’s a large American flag flying proud from a pole because of course there is. _True American patriotism is calling dibs by planting the flag everywhere possible. We’re the country that spent a fortune racing to the moon to do just that._

Still I wouldn’t trade the view for anything. The whole forested gorge extends as far as the eye can see, a rushing river slicing through, like a blue dagger nestled within a green heart.

_I could stay here forever._ I don’t. _If only because the park rangers would probably kick me out as a squatter._ But I want this moment to last. _I don’t want to go back to reality and responsibilities._

       One last glance backward, taking a mental snapshot of this whole moment to match the digital one on my phone. And then we descend down the way we came. And I’m trying to not to feel the impending closing of this chapter of my life. 


End file.
